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THE   PLOW-WOMAN 


THE 

PLOW-WOMAN 


BY 

ELEANOR    GATES 

Author  of  The  Biography  of  a  Prairie  Girl 


NEW   YORK 

McCLURE,   PHILLIPS   &   CO. 
MCMVII 


Copyright,  1906,  by 
McCLURE,   PHILLIPS  &  CO. 

Published,  September,  1906 


Copyright,  1906,  by  The  Pearson  Publishing  Company 


To 
Robert  Underwood  Johnson,  Esq. 


295551 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PACK 

I.  IN  THE  FURROW 3 

II.  A  TRIP  AND  TROUBLE  AHEAD 17 

III.  DALLAS  MAKES  A  FRIEND 30 

IV.  MISUNDERSTANDINGS 41 

V.  THE  DESPISED 52 

VI.  FROM  DODGE  CITY 62 

VII.  OUT  OF  THE  SKY 76 

VIII.  BEFORE  THE  WARPED  DOOR 86  ' 

IX.  A  HAND  IN  THE  FUN 96 

X.  AN  APPEAL  TO  HEADQUARTERS 106 

XI.  A  LITTLE  STRATEGY 118 

XII.  A  CONFESSION 129 

XIII.  A  PROPOSAL  AND  A  PROMISE 134 

XIV.  ANOTHER  PROMISE 145 

XV.  NECESSITY 151 

XVI.  BACK  FROM  THE  WINTER  CAMP 169 

XVII.  THE  AWAKENING 178 

XVIII.  THE  SMOKING  MOUNTAIN 191 

XIX.  AL  BRADEN  OF  Sioux  FALLS 200 

XX.  A  CHARGE 210 

XXI.  A  MEETING  BY  THE  FORD 216 

XXII.  A  FIRST  WARNING 223 

XXIII.  AND  WHAT  FOLLOWED  IT 228 

XXIV.  THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  FRONTIER       .......  245 

XXV.  THE  INQUIRY 254 

XXVI.  BACKSLIDING 264 

XXVII.  SIMON  PLAYS  A  PART 270 

v 


Contents  vi 

CHAPTER  PACK 

XXVIII.  A  CHANGE  IN  PLAN 277 

XXIX.  LOUNSBURY'S  RETURN 284 

XXX.  THE  TRYST 297 

XXXI.  BY  THE  LIGHT  OF  A  MATCH 303 

XXXII.  THE  EVE  OF  OTHER  THINGS 309 

XXXIII.  THE  END  OF  A  DREAM 312 

XXXIV.  FIRE  AND  ESCAPE 318 

XXXV.  THE  LAST  WARNING 325 

XXXVI.  SOME  UNEXPECTED  DISCOVERIES 330 

XXXVII.  THE  FLIGHT  TO  MURPHY'S  THROAT 335 

XXXVIII.  FRASER  HEARS  A  CALL 342 

XXXIX.  STANDING  AT  BAY 345 

XL.  SOME  ENDINGS  AND  BEGINNINGS 351 

XLI.  TAPS .361 


THE    PLOW-WOMAN 


CHAPTER    I 
IN    THE    FURROW 

THE  coulee  was  a  long,  scarlet  gash  in  the  brown 
level   of   the   Dakota   prairie,    for   the   sumach, 
dyed  by  the  frosts  of  the  early  autumn,  covered 
its   sides   like   a   cloth  whose  upper  folds   were 
thrown  far  over  the  brinks  of  the  winding  ravine  and, 
southward,  half-way  to  the  new  cottonwood  shack  of  the 
Lancasters.  Near  it,   a   dark  band   against  the   flaming 
shrub,  stretched  the  plowed  strip,  narrow,  but  widening 
with  each  slow  circuit  of  the  team  as  the  virgin,  grass- 
grown  land  was  turned  by  the  mould-board  to  prepare  for 
the  corn-planting  of  the  coming  spring. 

The  sun,  just  risen,  shone  coldly  upon  the  plain,  and  a 
wind,  bearing  with  it  a  hint  of  raw  weather  and  whirling 
snow,  swept  down  the  Missouri  valley  from  the  north, 
marshalling  in  its  front  hosts  of  gabbling  ducks  and  honk- 
ing geese  that  were  taking  noisy  flight  from  a  region  soon 
to  be  buried  and  already  bleak.  Yet  with  all  the  chill  in 
the  air,  Ben  and  Betty,  the  mules,  steamed  as  they  toiled 
to  and  fro,  and  lolled  out  their  tongues  with  the  warmth  of 
their  work  and  the  effort  of  keeping  straight  in  the 
furrow ;  and  Dallas,  following  in  their  wake  with  the  reins 
about  her  shoulders  and  the  horns  of  the  plow  in  a  steady- 
ing grasp,  took  off  her  slouch  hat  at  the  turnings  to  bare 
her  damp  forehead,  drew  the  sleeve  of  her  close-fitting 


4       ,   ,  ,  ,.  <( ,  ,    The  Plow-  Woman 

jersey  across  lief  f ace : ever v  few  moments,  and,  at  last,  to 
aid  her  in  making  better  progress,  as  well  as  to  cool  her 
ankles,  brought  the  bottom  of  her  skirt  through  the  waist- 
band, front  and  back,  and  walked  in  her  red  flannel  petti- 
coat. As  she  travelled,  she  looked  skyward  occasionally  with 
a  troubled  face,  and,  resting  but  seldom,  urged  the  team 
forward.  Clear  weather  and  sunshine  would  not  long  con- 
tinue, and  the  first  field  on  the  claim  must  be  turned  up  and 
well  harrowed  before  the  opening  of  winter. 

"  Come,  Ben,  come,"  she  called  coaxingly  to  the  nigh 
mule.  "  If  you  don't  dig  in  now,  how  d'  you  expect  to 
have  anything  to  eat  next  winter?  Betty,  Betty,  don't  let 
Ben  do  it  all;  I'm  talking  to  you,  too.  Come  along,  come 
along." 

Ben  and  Betty,  lean,  and  grey  with  age,  bent  willingly 
to  their  labour  at  the  sound  of  her  voice.  Their  harnesses 
creaked  a  monotonous  complaint  with  their  renewed  ef- 
forts, the  colter  came  whining  behind  them.  As  Dallas 
gently  slapped  the  lines  along  their  backs,  now  and  then, 
to  emphasise  her  commands,  clouds  of  dust,  which  had  been 
gathered  as  mud  in  the  buffalo-wallow  where  they  went  each 
evening  to  roll,  ascended  and  were  blown  away.  Faithfully 
they  pulled,  not  even  lifting  an  eyelid  or  flapping  an  ear  in 
protest  when  Simon,  the  stray  yearling  bull  that  had 
adopted  the  claim  as  its  home  and  tagged  Dallas  every- 
where, bellowed  about  their  straining  legs  or  loitered  at 
their  very  noses  and  impeded  their  way. 

Plowing  was  strange  work  to  the  patient  mules  and  to 
the  girl  who  was  guiding  them.  To  her,  the  level  prairie, 
rank  with  goldenrod,  pink-flowered  smartweed,  and  purple 
aster,  was  a  land  of  wondrous  growth.  For  twenty  yea^s 


In  the  Furrow  5 

her  home  had  been  an  arid  mesa  far  to  the  south,  where  her 
father  captained  the  caretakers  of  a  spur  railroad  track. 
The  most  western  station-house  in  Texas,  standing  amid  f 
thorny  mesquite,  was  her  birthplace  and  that  of  her  sister 
Marylyn;  the  grey  plateau  across  which  the  embankment 
led  was  their  playground ;  there  they  grew  to  womanhood 
under  the  careful  guidance  of  their  frail,  Northern-born 
mother. 

And  then  two  casualties,  coming  close  upon  each  other, 
had  suddenly  changed  their  life.  Their  father  was  brought 
home  one  night  so  maimed  and  crushed  by  the  wheels  of 
a  flat-car  that  he  could  never  hope  to  take  up  his  work 
again;  and  while  he  lay,  bandaged  and  broken,  fighting 
to  keep  the  soul  in  his  crippled  body,  their  mother  bravely 
yielded  her  life  to  a  lingering  illness. 

Many  months  later,  when  Evan  Lancaster's  wounds  were 
at  last  healed,  Ben  and  Betty  were  unhitched  from  a  dirt- 
laden  scraper  on  the  siding  and  put  before  a  white-topped 
prairie-schooner.  Then  the  old  section-boss,  with  his 
crutches  beside  him  and  his  daughters  seated  in  the  all  but 
empty  box  behind,  said  a  husky  farewell  to  the  men  crowd- 
ing around  the  wagon,  and  started  the  mules  along  the 
road  that  led  northward  beside  the  rails. 

He  gave  no  backward  glance  at  the  wind-battered  house 
where  he  had  brought  an  ailing  bride;  instead,  eager  to 
leave  that  plain  of  flying  sand  and  scanty  grasses,  he  drove 
the  team  rapidly  forward,  bound  for  a  country  where  there 
were  wells,  and  not  water-cars,  where  rain  fell  oftener,  and 
where  food,  both  for  man  and  beast,  could  be  gotten  easily 
from  the  earth.  But  Dallas,  seated  in  the  schooner's  bed, 
her  weeping  sister  held  soothingly  against  her  breast, 


6  The  Plow-Woman 

watched,  dry-eyed,  as  a  mound  by  a  giant  mesquite  faded 
slowly  from  her  sight,  and  saw  her  girlhood's  home  give 
way,  as  a  lighthouse  sinks  behind  a  speeding  vessel,  until 
only  its  grey-sprinkled  roof  showed  through  the  scattered 
trees.  Then,  after  pillowing  Marylyn's  head  on  a  Navajo 
blanket  beside  the  swashing  water  cask,  she  climbed  for- 
ward to  the  driver's  seat  and  took  the  reins  from  her 
father. 

It  was  April,  and  when  the  mesa  was  left  far  to  rear- 
ward, a  world  almost  forgotten  by  the  crippled  section- 
boss  burst  in  new,  green  loveliness  upon  his  desert  children. 
Towering  pines  and  spreading  oaks,  lush  grass  strewn  with 
blossoms,  clear-running  streams  and  gay-feathered  birds 
replaced  thirsty  vegetation,  salt  lakes,  and  hovering  vul- 
tures. They  travelled  slowly,  each  day  bringing  some 
fresh  delight  to  ear  and  eye,  until  one  evening  in  the 
waning  Dakota  summer  they  camped  beside  a  great 
crooked  split  in  the  prairie,  on  a  flat  peninsula  made  by 
a  sweeping  westward  bend  of  the  muddy  Missouri. 

Across  the  river  from  their  stopping-place,  where  an 
amber  sun  was  going  down,  the  horizon  was  near.  High 
bluffs,  like  a  huge  wind-break,  stood  upon  the  plain,  leav- 
ing at  their  feet  only  enough  space  for  the  whitewashed 
frame  buildings  of  Fort  Brannon.  But  to  the  east,  the 
paralleling  bluffs  lay  at  a  distance,  and  broke  their  ridge- 
back  far  up  the  scarlet  coulee;  from  where,  southward, 
stretched  a  wide  gap — ten  broad  and  gently  undulating 
miles — that  ended  at  the  slough-studded  base  of  Medicine 
Mountain.  Evan  Lancaster,  as  he  stood  bareheaded  under 
the  unclouded  sky,  looked  about  him  upon  acres  heavy 
with  tangled  grass  and  weeds ;  and  pleased  with  the  evident 


In  the  Furrow  7 

richness  of  the  untouched  ground,  and  with  the  sheltered 
situation  of  the  claim  on  the  bend,  swore  that  the  white- 
topped  schooner,  with  its  travel-stained  crew  of  three,  had 
found  on  the  yellow  billows  of  that  northern  prairie  its 
permanent  moorings  at  last. 

The  felling  and  hewing  of  cottonwoods  for  the  shack 
had  occupied  the  first  few  weeks  that  followed,  citizen  car- 
penters from  Brannon  doing  the  heavy  cutting  and  lifting. 
But  when  the  little  house  stood,  its  square  log  room  and 
dirt  floor  open  to  the  sun,  Dallas  performed  her  part  of 
the  building,  and  thatched  the  hip-roof  with  coarse  grass 
from  a  meadow.  Next,  the  well  was  dug;  and  the  barn 
built  as  a  lean-to,  for  the  Lancasters  knew  little,  but  had 
heard  much,  about  the  blizzards  of  the  territory.  Then, 
while  the  elder  girl  covered  the  slanting  rafters  over  Ben 
and  Betty's  stall,  the  section-boss  hauled  a  scanty  stock  of 
hay  and  provisions  from  Clark's,  a  cattle-camp  and  settle- 
ment to  the  northeast.  And  finally,  when  shack  and  barn 
were  alike  done,  Dallas  put  the  mules  to  the  end  of  an  oak 
beam  and  took  up  the  task  of  plowing. 
,  Now  she  was  winding  at  a  black  mat  that  was  gradually 
growing  upon  the  brown  carpet  of  the  prairie.  Up  and 
down  she  walked,  her  whip-lash  trailing  behind  her  like  a 
lively  snake,  her  hands  striving  to  guide  the  cleaving  share 
she  followed,  a  look  of  deep  content,  despite  all  fear  for 
bad  weather,  upon  her  sun-browned  face. 

But  while,  working  the  morning  hours  slowly  away,  she 
gave  full  attention  to  the  nodding  mules  and  the  young 
bull  straggling  at  their  head,  she  did  not  stop  to  watch  the 
flocks  winging  by  above  her,  or  to  look  off  to  where  the 
plains  fell  away  from  the  pale  azure  line  of  the  sky.  So  she 


8  The  Plow- Woman 

failed  to  see,  at  the  middle  of  the  long  forenoon,  a  group 
of  dark  figures  that  came  into  sight  to  the  eastward  and 
moved  slowly  forward  in  the  direction  of  the  bend. 

Toward  noon,  however,  the  furrows  were  turned  less 
regularly.  Ben  and  Betty  were  so  tired  that  they  no 
longer  drew  evenly,  but  wavered  from  side  to  side.  Again 
and  again  the  off  mule  jerked  the  share  out  of  the  sod; 
each  time  Dallas  patiently  circled  the  team  and  steered  it 
back  into  place  again,  for  her  arms  were  not  strong  enough 
to  swing  the  plow  on  the  whiffletrees.  And  each  time  Simon 
caught  sight  of  her  red  flannel  petticoat,  and,  faint,  half- 
awakened  objections  stirring  beneath  his  sprouting  horns, 
came  back  to  challenge  the  goading  colour  and  butt  her 
crossly  in  the  skirts. 

Just  before  dinner-time,  and  half-way  of  the  plowed 
strip,  going  east,  Dallas  suddenly  lifted  her  shoulders  to 
tighten  the  slack  of  the  reins,  let  go  the  horns  and  brought 
the  mules  to  a  stand.  And  then,  as  they  halted  with  low- 
ered heads,  she  caught  sight  of  the  distant  figures  between 
her  and  the  horizon,  recognising  them  as  men,  mounted 
and  on  foot,  with  wagons  hanging  at  their  rear. 

She  stepped  to  the  head  of  the  team  and  shaded  her  eyes 
for  a  moment.  As  she  did  so,  a  part  of  the  advancing  body 
detached  itself  and  approached  more  swiftly,  only  to  re- 
treat again;  and  the  sun,  climbing  toward  the  centre  of 
the  sky,  flashed  back  upon  bright  objects  carried  at  the 
front  of  the  group. 

"  Soldiers  for  Brannon,  I  reckon,"  she  said  aloud  to 
Simon,  who  had  given  over  his  butting  and  was  thought- 
fully sniffing  the  air.  "  Still,"  she  added,  "  they're  coming 
slow  for  soldiers." 


In  ihe  Furrow  9 

Simon  rubbed  a  red  shoulder  against  her  arm  confidingly 
and  gave  a  defiant,  sideways  toss  of  the  head. 

"You  know,  don't  you?"  Dallas  said,  scratching  the 
star  in  his  curly  forehead.  "  Well,  I  would,  too,  if  I  had 
your  nose."  She  glanced  at  the  mules  and  noted  their  lack 
of  fright.  "  They're  not  Indians  anyhow,"  she  went  on, 
"  so  I  guess  we'll  do  some  more  plowing." 

When  the  sun  was  so  high  that  Simon's  shadow  made 
but  a  small  splotch  upon  the  ground  under  him,  Dallas 
again  stopped  to  look  toward  the  east.  The  men  and  horses 
had  travelled  only  a  short  distance,  and  were  halted  for 
their  noon  rest.  Close  to  the  wagons,  the  smoke  of  burning 
grass-twists  was  curling  up  from  under  the  midday  meal. 

"  They  ain't  soldiers,"  she  said  decisively ;  "  if  they  was, 
they'd  go  on  to  the  ferry.  And  what  can  they  be,  headed 
this  way  ?  "  She  took  off  her  hat  and  swung  it  at  her 
father  to  attract  his  attention,  then  pointed  toward  the 
men  and  teams. 

Lancaster  was  sitting  before  the  shack,  his  crutches 
across  his  knees.  Seeing  her  signal,  he  got  up  and  hobbled 
hastily  around  the  corner,  from  where  he  blinked  into  the 
gap.  And,  unable  to  make  out  anything  but  a  blurred 
collection  of  moving  things,  he  called  Marylyn  from  her 
dinner-getting. 

"  Come  an'  see  w'at  y'  c'n  make  out  off  thar  on  th' 
prairie,  Mar'lyn,"  he  cried.  "  Ef  it's  antelope,  bring  out 
th'  Sharps." 

Marylyn  hurried  to  him  and  followed  the  direction  of 
his  gaze.  "  Why,  it's  men,  pa,"  she  said. 

"  Certainly,  it's  men,"  he  agreed  pettishly.  "  But  w'at 
Jem9  o'  men?  Thet's  w'at  Ah  kain't  see." 


10  The  Plow-Woman 

Marylyn  shook  her  head.  Then,  as  she  bent  her  look 
inquiringly  toward  the  far-away  camp,  a  horseman  sud- 
denly left  it  and  started  on  a  gallop  toward  them.  "  One's 
coming  this  way  fast ! "  she  exclaimed,  and  rushed  back 
into  the  shack  for  her  bonnet. 

Lancaster  and  his  younger  daughter  commented  ex- 
citedly as  the  rider  approached.  One  troop  of  cavalry 
had  remained  at  Brannon  throughout  the  summer  to  give 
protection  to  the  wives  and  children  of  officers  and  enlisted 
men.  The  remaining  troops  belonging  at  the  fort  were 
away  on  Indian  service.  They  were  to  return  soon,  and 
the  section-boss  believed  he  saw  in  the  nearing  traveller 
the  herald  of  the  home-coming  force.  Marylyn,  however, 
was  just  as  certain  that  Indians  were  about  to  surround 
them,  and  hastily  brought  out  the  gun.  But  Dallas  wasted 
no  time  in  conjectures.  She  touched  up  Ben  and  Betty 
and  finished  her  round  of  the  plowed  land.  Not  till  the 
stranger  was  close  did  she  stop  at  the  eastern  end  of  the 
field  and  wait,  leaning  on  the  cross-bar. 

He  came  forward  in  a  sharp  canter,  keeping  a  regular 
tap  upon  the  flanks  of  his  mount  with  the  end  of  a  lariat. 
His  careless  seat  in  the  saddle  and  the  fact  that  he  wore  no 
spurs  told  Dallas  that  he  was  not  a  trooper,  though  across 
the  lessening  distance  now  between  them  his  dress  of  blue 
shirt,  dark  breeches  and  high  boots,  crowned  by  a  wide, 
soft  hat,  was  not  unlike  a  campaign  uniform.  At  his  ap- 
proach, Ben  and  Betty  became  lazily  interested  and  raised 
their  long  ears  to  the  front;  Simon  advanced  a  little  and 
took  a  determined  stand  beside  Dallas,  who  hung  her  lines 
on  the  plow-handles  and  prepared  to  greet  the  horseman. 

The  instant  he  reached  her,  he  halted  abruptly  beside 


In  the  Furrow  11 

the  mules  and  bared  his  head.  "  Good-morning,"  he  said 
with  cheery  politeness;  but  his  swift  glance  over  team, 
plow,  and  girl  showed  a  surprise  that  was  almost  pity. 

She  saw  his  look,  and  the  colour  swept  up  under  the 
tan  of  her  face.  "  How  d'  y'  do,"  she  answered. 

"  I'm  John  Lounsbury  from  Clark's,"  he  began.  "  I've 
been  supplying  that  crowd  back  there  with  feed  and  grub 
for  a  couple  of  weeks."  He  nodded  toward  the  distant 
men  and  horses.  "  May  I  ask — I — I  didn't  know  any 
women  folks  had  settled 

She  faced  him  squarely  for  a  moment,  and  he  met  her 
eyes.  They  were  grey,  with  tawny  flecks,  wide-open,  clear 
and  comprehending.  "  My  father's  Evan  Lancaster," 
she  explained. 

"  Lancaster — oh,  he's  traded  at  my  store." 

"  That's  him  over  there  with  Marylyn." 

Lounsbury  turned  in  his  saddle  and  looked  toward  the 
shack.  "  Marylyn  ?  "  he  said.  "  What  a  pretty  name ! 

Sounds  like  Maryland.  How'd  she "  He  paused 

questioningly. 

"  Mother's  name  was  Mary  Lynn,"  she  answered,  her 
voice  lowered.  "  So  she  just  put  it  together." 

"And  yours?" 

"  Mine's  Dallas.  I  was  born  in  Texas." 

He  leaned  back  against  his  high  cantle  and  smiled. 
"  I  could  'a'  guessed  that,"  he  declared. 

Again  she  coloured  sensitively,  and  hastened  to  swing 
the  team  around  until  Betty  stood  in  the  furrow.  "  My 
father's  coming,"  she  said. 

Instantly  Lounsbury  was  all  regret,  for  he  saw  that 
she  had  misunderstood  him.  "  You  don't  look  Texas,"  he 


12  The  Plow-Woman 

said  earnestly.  "  It's  just  the  name.  And — and  I  think 
Dallas  is  pretty,  too." 

The  implied  jest  on  her  native  State  did  not  do  away 
with  her  displeasure.  She  nodded  gravely  and,  turning, 
put  the  lines  about  her  shoulders.  The  mules  started. 

"  Now  I've  got  you  down  on  me,"  he  said  penitently. 
"  Honest,  I  didn't  mean " 

She  paid  no  heed. 

He  clapped  on  his  hat,  whipped  his  horse  and  followed 
alongside,  waiting  for  her  to  look  up.  Opposite  the  shack, 
Lancaster  and  his  other  daughter  were  standing  by  the 
furrow.  Here  she  drew  rein.  "  This  is  Marylyn,"  she 
said,  as  the  storekeeper  leaned  to  grasp  her  father's 
hand. 

Lounsbury  again  lifted  his  hat  and  looked  down,  long 
and  admiringly,  upon  the  younger  girl.  Her  fair  hair, 
framing  in  soft  waves  a  pale,  oval  face,  and  her  blue  eyes, 
watching  him  in  some  confusion,  were  strongly  in  contrast 
with  the  straight,  heavy  braids — brown,  and  showing 
burnished  tints  in  the  light — and  the  unwavering  eyes  of 
her  sister.  Looking  at  her,  he  was  reminded  of  girls  he 
had  seen  beyond  the  Alleghanies — girls  who  knew  little, 
or  no,  toil,  and  who  jealously  guarded  their  beauty  from 
sun  and  wind.  Answering  Lancaster's  blunt  questions, 
that  followed  close  upon  each  other,  he  paid  her  prettiness 
constant  and  wondering  homage;  and  she,  noting  the  at- 
tention, retreated  a  little  and  was  quiet  and  abashed. 

"  Who  's  you'  party  ?  "  the  elder  man  demanded,  indi- 
cating the  distant  camp  with  one  crutch,  and  leaning 
heavily  upon  the  other. 

"  Surveyors,"  replied  Lounsbury. 


In  the  Furrow  13 

"  Surveyors !  "  There  was  alarm  in  Lancaster's  tone. 
He  suddenly  recalled  how,  slighting  Dallas'  advice,  he  had 
delayed  a  trip  to  the  land-office  for  the  purpose  of  filing 
on  the  claim.  "Wat  they  doin'?  " 

"  Something  right  in  your  line,  sir.  They're  laying  out 
a  railroad." 

"A  railroad?  You  don'  say!  How  '11  it  come?" 

"  Why,  right  this  way." 

Lancaster  caught  the  other  by  the  bootstrap.  "  Shore?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Sure,"  repeated  Lounsbury ;  "  sure  as  death  and  taxes. 
It's  bound  to  run  somewhere  between  the  coulee  and  Medi- 
cine Mountain,  and  it'll  stop — at  least  for  a  few  years — 
at  the  Missouri.  With  those  sloughs  in  the  way  at  the 
south  end  of  the  gap,  it  can't  reach  the  river  without 
coming  over  your  land.  First  thing  you  know,  you'll  have 
stores  and  saloons  around  your  house.  There's  going  to  be 
a  town  on  the  Bend,  sir." 

The  elder  man  scanned  the  younger's  face.  Lounsbury 
was  smiling  half  teasingly,  yet  undoubtedly  he  was  in 
earnest. 

"  W'y,  Lawd ! "  breathed  the  section-boss,  realising  the 
whole  import  of  the  news.  A  railroad  would  mean  im- 
measurable good  fortune  to  the  trio  of  settlers  who,  like 
young  prairie-chickens  that  fear  to  leave  the  side  of  their 
mother,  had  chosen  quarter-sections  near  the  guarding 
fort.  And  to  him,  penniless,  with  motherless  girls,  it 
meant 

"  The  ferrying  's  so  good  right  here,"  went  on  the  store- 
keeper. "  Why,  it's  a  ten-to-one  shot  the  track'll  end  on 
your  claim." 


14  The  Plow-Woman 

With  one  accord  all  looked  across  the  level  quarter, 
where  the  new  green  was  creeping  in  after  the  late  rains. 

"  A  railroad !  An'  a  town ! "  The  section-boss  pulled  at 
his  grizzled  goatee.  "  They'll  make  this  piece  worth  a 
heap!" 

"  They  will,"  agreed  Lounsbury.  "  But  road  or  no 
road,  seems  to  me  you've  got  about  the  cream  of  this  side 
of  the  river." 

"  You'  right,"  said  Lancaster.  But  the  girls  were 
silent,  except  that  Dallas  gave  a  sigh,  deep  and  full  of 
happiness. 

Lounsbury  glanced  at  her.  "  You  like  the  place,  don't 

you  ?  "  he  asked ;  "  even  if "  He  suddenly  paused. 

Her  palms  were  open  and  half  turned  upward.  Across  each 
lay  a  crimson  stripe — the  mark  of  the  plow-handle. 

For  the  second  time  she  read  his  meaning.  "  Yes,  I  like 
the  prairie,"  she  answered,  "  if  I  do  have  to  plow."  And 
she  stepped  from  the  furrow  to  the  unturned  sod. 

As  she  stood  there,  Lounsbury  caught  the  clear  outline 
of  her  firmly  drawn  face.  Beside  her,  Marylyn,  slight  and 
colourless,  was  for  the  moment  eclipsed.  The  hat  of  the 
elder  girl  was  brushed  back,  displaying  a  forehead  upon 
which  shone  the  very  spirit  of  the  unshackled.  Her  hands, 
large,  yet  not  too  large  for  the  splendid  figure  of  which 
they  were  the  instruments,  were  clasped  upon  her  breast. 
Watching  her,  it  seemed  to  Lounsbury  that  she  must  have 
sprung  as  she  was  from  the  plains  one  day — grave,  full- 
grown  and  gallant. 

Her  father's  voice  broke  in  harshly.  "  Ah  didn'  want 
she  should  plow,"  he  protested.  "  Ah  figgered  t'  git  some- 
one on  tick,  but  seems  like  Dallas,  she " 


In  the  Furrow  15 

"  We  like  it  here,"  she  interrupted,  "  because  the  air 
's  so  cool,  and  there's  lots  of  grass."  Then  after  bending 
to  gather  a  purple  flower,  she  stepped  back  to  the  plow. 

"  You're  planning  to  stay,  then,"  said  Lounsbury. 

"  Stay !  "  burst  forth  the  section-boss.  "  Don'  it  look 
like  it?" 

Lounsbury  made  no  reply,  only  smiled  genially. 

"  Maybe  y'  reckon  we-all  ain't  safe?  "  continued  Lan- 
caster. "  Wai,  th'  nesters  'roun'  Fort  Sully's  safe  'nough." 

The  storekeeper  pointed  across  the  river  to  where  a 
flag  was  flying  at  the  centre  of  the  post  quadrangle. 
"  You're  in  sight  of  that,"  he  said  simply. 

The  other  snorted.  Then,  stifling  a  retort,  he  searched 
Lounsbury's  face  with  his  milky-blue  eyes.  "  Ah'd  like  t' 
ast  w'y  y'  didn'  tell  me  'bout  th'  track  when  Ah  seen  y' 
las',"  he  observed  suspiciously. 

The  storekeeper  gave  a  hearty  laugh.  "  And  why  didn't 
you  say  you  had  daughters?  "  he  demanded. 

Instantly  a  change  came  over  the  elder  man.  He  dark- 
ened angrily.  His  breath  shortened,  as  if  he  had  been 
running.  Visible  trembling  seized  him,  body  and  limbs. 

Mystified,  Lounsbury  turned  to  Dallas,  and  saw  that 
her  eyes  were  fastened  upon  her  father  imploringly.  "  No, 
no,  dad,"  he  heard  her  whisper ;  "  no,  no." 

The  storekeeper  hastened  to  speak.  "  Joking  aside,"  he 
said,  "  the  reason  is  this :  The  railroad  company  wants  the 
right  kind  of  people  to  settle  on  the  land  along  the  survey. 
It  doesn't  want  men  who'd  file  just  to  get  a  price.  So  the 
story  hasn't  leaked  much." 

Lancaster  was  fumbling  at  his  crutches.  "  Ah  see,  Ah 
see,"  he  said  sulkily.  Then,  with  an  attempt  at  being 


16  The  Plow-Woman 

courteous,  "  Come  up  t'  th'  shack,  Lounsb'ry.  Y'  brung 
good  news ;  y'  got  t'  hev  you'  dinner." 

"  I  ate  back  there,"  said  Lounsbury,  dismounting ;  "  but 
I'll  stop  off  for  a  while,  just  the  same."  As  he  slipped  the 
reins  over  his  horse's  head,  Marylyn  remembered  the  meal 
she  had  abandoned  and  started  homeward.  The  store- 
keeper, leading  his  mount,  strode  away  beside  her. 

Dallas  clucked  to  the  mules. 

"  Ain't  you  comin'  ?  "  called  her  father.  "  W'y,  my  gal, 
you  worked  'nough  this  mornin'." 

"  I'll  keep  at  it  just  a  little  longer,"  she  answered. 

"  We  don'  hear  ev'ry  day  thet  we  live  on  a  town  site 
with  a  railroad  a-comin',"  Lancaster  said,  following  her 
a  few  steps.  "  Better  come." 

Dallas  did  not  reply.  When  she  was  some  rods  farther 
on,  her  father  called  to  her  again. 

"  Come,  Dallas,"  he  urged,  "  an'  stop  plowin'  up  th' 
streets." 

She  shook  her  head,  slapped  the  reins  along  Ben  and 
Betty's  dusty  backs  and  leaned  guidingly  on  the  handles 
of  the  plow.  And  as  she  travelled  slowly  riverward,  Simon 
trotted  close  behind,  tossing  his  stubby  horns  at  the  red 
of  her  underskirt  and  bawling  wearily. 


CHAPTER    II 
A    TRIP    AND    TROUBLE    AHEAD 

BEFORE  Dallas  reached  the  end  of  her  furrow  she 
knew  that,  for  at  least  some  days  to  come,  her 
work  on  the  plowed  strip  must  cease.  Far  and 
wide,  frontiersmen  may  have  heard  of  the  rail- 
road's coming,  and  their  first  move  would  be,  perhaps  had 
been,  a  rush  to  the  land-office  to  file  upon  quarter-sections 
touching  the  survey.  And  so,  no  hour  dared  be  wasted  be- 
fore her   father   started   on   his   long-deferred  trip.  The 
claim  on  the  peninsula — the  claim  which  the  storekeeper 
had  named  as  the  terminus  of  the  proposed  line,  as  the 
probable  site  for  a  new  town — must  at  once  be  legally 
theirs. 

When  the  mules  were  turned  eastward  again,  Dallas 
brought  them  up  for  a  breathing  spell  and,  going  apart 
a  little  distance,  sat  down,  her  knees  between  her  hands. 
A  short  space  of  time  had  made  incredible  changes  in  their 
plans,  in  the  possibilities  of  their  prairie  home.  Before 
the  cutting  of  the  last  two  sods,  there  had  stretched  ahead 
only  a  succession  of  uneventful  years,  whose  milestones 
would  be  the  growing  record  of  beeves  and  bushels.  But 
now — she  could  not  have  credited  her  senses  had  it  not 
been  for  a  glimpse  of  Lounsbury's  horse,  industriously 
cropping  beside  the  lean-to. 

She  looked  across  at  the  shack,  squatting  on  a  gentle 

17 


18  The  Plow-Woman 

rise  at  the  centre  of  the  claim  as  if  it  had  fled  there  for 
refuge  out  of  the  grassy  sea  whose  dry  waves  lapped  up 
to  its  very  door.  Its  two  small  windows,  looking  riverward, 
the  narrow  door  of  warped  lumber  between,  and  the  shock 
roof  of  meadow-grass  held  down  by  stones,  gave  it  the 
appearance  of  a  grotesque  human  head  that  was  peering 
from  out  the  plain.  As  Dallas,  for  the  first  time,  noted  the 
curious  resemblance,  the  shack  seemed  to  smile  back  at 
her — a  wise,  reassuring  smile. 

A  moment  later  the  north  wind  hooded  the  sky  with 
clouds,  putting  the  bend  in  gloom.  She  got  to  her  feet  and 
hastened  toward  the  plow.  So  brief  had  been  her  meeting 
with  the  storekeeper  that,  immediately  following  it,  his 
features  had  escaped  her.  Now  she  recalled  them,  and 
thought  she  recalled  that,  when  he  had  accosted  her,  they 
had  worn  a  mocking  expression.  What  if  her  father,  in  his 
sudden  excitement  and  concern,  should  tell  Lounsbury  that 
the  claim  was  not  yet  filed  upon !  should  confide  in  this 
stranger,  who  might  then  take  advantage  of  the  ignorance, 
age  and  crippled  condition  of  the  section-boss !  Hurriedly, 
she  unhitched  Ben  and  Betty,  hung  their  bridles  on  the 
hames,  and  turned  the  team  loose  to  graze.  Then  she 
started  homeward,  with  Simon  close  upon  her  heels,  and  as 
she  crossed  the  cloud-darkened  claim,  she  glanced  again 
at  the  shack.  Its  windows  were  in  shadow,  its  door  almost 
obscured.  There  was  a  smirk  on  its  twisted  face. 

But  when,  entering  the  house,  she  met  Lounsbury 's  kind, 
level  look,  the  distrust  she  had  felt  unconsciously  vanished. 

He  was  seated  astride  9,  'bench  to  the  left  of  the  fire- 
place, his  hat  flung  down  in  front  of  him,  his  shoulders 
against  the  wall,  his  booted  legs  thrust  out  restf  ully  across 


A  Trip  and  Trouble  Ahead  19 

the  floor.  Dallas,  seeing  him  out  of  the  saddle  for  the  first 
time,  was  struck  by  his  splendid  length,  next  by  his  heavi- 
ness— a  round,  but  muscular,  heaviness  that  she  had  never 
noted  in  a  Texan.  Leaning  back  with  folded  arms,  he 
showed,  however,  despite  his  weight  and  rotundity,  the 
pliance  and  the  litheness  of  the  Westerner.  His  hair  was 
dark  and  thick  and  worn  in  a  careless  part,  his  throat  was 
bronzed  above  the  lacings  of  his  shirt,  his  face  clean- 
shaven, somewhat  square — yet  full — and  set  with  blue 
eyes  that  showed  an  abiding  glint  of  merriment. 

If  Dallas,  as  she  crossed  the  sill,  formed,  with  the  swift 
keenness  of  the  plainswoman,  a  new  and  truer  estimate  of 
Lounsbury,  he,  saluting  cordially,  failed  not  to  measure 
her.  The  dirt-floored  shack,  partitioned  by  Navajo  blank- 
ets and  furnished  with  unplaned  benches,  was  a  back- 
ground totally  unsuited  to  Marylyn's  delicate  beauty;  but 
for  the  elder  daughter  of  the  section-boss,  its  very  rude 
simplicity  seemed  strangely  fine  and  fitting. 

Many  women  had  come  under  the  storekeeper's  notice 
during  his  frontier  life:  Roughly  reared  women  of  pure 
ways  who  toiled  and  bore  with  the  patience  of  beasts ;  the 
women  of  the  army,  matching,  in  dress  and  habits,  those 
he  had  known  as  a  boy;  and,  last  of  all,  the  kind  that 
always  follows  in  the  track  of  soldier,  scout  and  gambler. 
Yet  never  before  on  the  sundown  side  of  the  Mississippi 
had  he  seen  one  who  possessed,  along  with  the  reserve  a 
lonely  bringing-up  enjoins,  the  dignity  and  poise  that  are 
counted  the  fruits  of  civilisation. 

"  It's  good  blood,"  he  sai^to  himself,  "  and  "—with  a 
glance  at  the  section-boss — "  it's  from  the  mother's  side." 

Lancaster,  at  that  moment,  was  truly  anything  but  a 


20  The  Plow-Woman 

picture  of  repose.  His  season  of  delight  over  the  morning's 
news  had  been  brief,  and  was  now  succeeded  by  thorough 
disquiet.  He  hobbled  to  and  fro,  from  the  hearth,  where 
hung  a  pail  of  fragrant  coffee,  to  the  farther  front  win- 
dow. Lounsbury  remarked  his  evident  worry  and,  not  un- 
derstanding it,  bent  down  inquiringly  toward  Marylyn. 

She  was  seated  on  a  buffalo  robe  before  the  fire,  zeal- 
ously tending  the  coffee.  As  she  felt  the  storekeeper's  look 
upon  her,  she  glanced  up,  and,  meeting  his  eyes,  something 
other  than  the  firelight  swept  her  throat,  neck  and  brow 
with  crimson  touch. 

"  There's  no  fretting  in  that  quarter,"  was  Lounsbury's 
mental  comment.  He  turned  on  the  bench  to  face  Dallas. 

She  was  standing  quietly  beside  the  warped  door,  her 
arms  hanging  tensely  at  her  side,  her  chin  up,  her  eyes 
gazing  straight  at  him.  And  in  them,  as  well  as  in  her 
whole  attitude,  Lounsbury  read  determination  and  anxiety. 

"  What's  the  matter,  I  wonder,"  he  thought.  He  leaned 
toward  her,  resting  an  elbow  on  the  bench.  "  You're  get- 
ting ready  for  spring  seeding,  Miss  Lancaster,"  he  said. 

"  Yes." 

The  section-boss  giggled  nervously.  "  Ef  th'  town  was 
right  here,  it  would  n'  make  no  difference  t'  Dallas.  Ah'll 
bet  she'll  spen'  th'  winter  shellin'  cawn  fer  plantin',  an' 
pickin'  cockle  outen  th'  wheat."  He  fell  to  tugging  at  his 
goatee. 

Again  there  was  silence.  Then,  with  a  deep  breath, 
Dallas  straightened  to  speak.  It  was  borne  to  her  of  a 
sudden  that  they  were  in  need — of  one  in  whom  they 
might  confide,  of  one  from  whom  good  advice  might 
come;  she  felt  impelled  to  tell  this  stalwart  young  man, 


A  Trip  and  Trouble  Ahead  21 

whose  eyes  read  kindness  and  whose  face  read  right,  who 
seemed  to  bear  them  nothing  but  good-will,  that  they  had 
not  filed  the  claim.  And  then 

The  fire  crackled  cosily,  the  blackened  pail  steamed 
from  the  cross-piece.  Lounsbury  spread  out  his  hands 
before  the  blaze.  "  I  wish  I  lived  on  a  quarter,  like  you 
folks,"  he  said.  "  I  hate  the  dickering  in  a  store.  Been 
at  it  ten  years.  Was  in  the  fur  business,  at  first — bought 
from  the  Indians  and  the  skin-hunters  up  and  down. 
Well,  the  country  got  into  my  blood.  You  get  the  West, 
you  know,  and  it's  the  only  disease  out  here  that  you 
can't  shake.  So  I've  stayed,  and  I  guess  I'll  keep  a-stay- 
ing.  But  sometimes  I  get  a  notion  to  throw  my  stores  up 
and  go  into  the  cow  business  or  farming." 

Dallas  sank  back,  checked,  not  by  Lounsbury's  words, 
but  by  her  father.  The  section-boss,  one  hand  behind  a 
hairy  ear,  was  glowering  at  the  storekeeper.  "  Eh,  what?  " 
he  asked  suspiciously. 

"  I  say  I've  a  notion  to  take  up  some  land,"  repeated 
Lounsbury.  "  Right  east  of  you  wouldn't  be  a  bad  idea. 
The  soil's  wonderful  hereabouts.  No  stumps,  no  stones, 
and  the  loam's  thick.  Look  in  the  coulee — you  can  see 
there  how  far  it  is  to  the  clay.  That's  why  she  wore  down 
so  deep " 

"Thet  arroyo?" 

"  Yes.  I  believe  I'll  just  pick  out  a  quarter  near  it. 
Could  plant  a  store  anyway,  when  the  track  comes." 

"  Yas,  certainly,"  said  Lancaster.  He  passed  Dallas, 
giving  her  a  helpless,  apprehensive  stare.  "  But,  shucks ! 
Ah  wouldn'  be  in  sech  a  tarnel  hurry,  ef  Ah  was  you. 
Spring's  plenty  o'  time." 


22  The  Plow-Woman 

Lounsbury  swung  round  sharply.  "  Spring ! "  he  ex- 
claimed in  amazement.  "  I  hope  that  hasn't  been  your 
plan,  sir.  A  man  can't  file  too  soon." 

Dallas  leaned  toward  Lounsbury  again,  and  her  lips 
parted.  But  a  quick,  peremptory  gesture  from  her  father 
interrupted.  "  Mar'lyn,"  he  cried,  his  eyes  warning  the 
elder  girl,  "  look  out  f  er  thet  coffee ;  it's  a-bilin'  over." 

And  Dallas  saw  that  her  father  did  not  trust  the  store- 
keeper— perhaps  feared  him — and  that  he  did  not  wish 
his  own  neglect  to  be  known. 

But  a  hint  of  the  state  of  affairs  at  the  shack  had 
already  entered  Lounsbury's  mind.  As  Marylyn  rose  to 
pour  the  coffee,  he  quickly  changed  the  subject.  "Fort 
's  a  quiet  place,  these  days,"  he  observed,  accepting  a 
cup.  "  Wonder  when  the  troops  '11  be  back." 

The  section-boss  sipped  at  his  saucer.  "  Ah  don'  carry 
on  no  dealin's  with  Yankee  soldier  trash,"  he  answered 
curtly.  "  They  keep  they  side  o'  th'  river,  an'  we-all  keep 
ourn." 

Lounsbury  laughed.  "Well,"  he  said,  "you'll  find 
when  the  redskins  get  nasty  that  the  army  blue  looks 
pretty  good." 

The  other  shrugged. 

The  storekeeper  tapped  the  holster  hanging  upon  a 
thigh.  "  I  carry  a  pop-gun  regular."  He  set  down  the 
cup,  pulled  at  his  boot-legs  and  arose. 

"  Ah  reckon  Ah  c'n  hoi'  my  own,  sah."  Lancaster's 
pride  was  touched. 

"  No  doubt  of  it,"  assured  the  younger  man,  preparing 
to  go.  "  I  hope,"  he  continued,  "  that  you'll  call  on  me 
at  any  time — if  you  need  more  provisions,  say.19 


A  Trip  and  Trouble  Ahead  23 

Lancaster  did  not  misunderstand  the  offer  of  credit. 
"  Thank  y',"  he  replied  stiffly,  "  but  we  certainly  got 
'nough  t'  las'  through." 

Lounsbury  remembered  how  small — compared  with  the 
orders  of  other  wintering  settlers — was  the  Lancaster 
stock ;  and  thought,  too,  how  likely  it  was  that  every  pas- 
serby would  be  fed  with  true  Southern  hospitality,  thus 
diminishing  the  supply.  But  he  refrained  from  making 
any  further  suggestion.  He  bade  the  family  good-by, 
lingering  a  little  at  parting  beside  the  younger  girl. 

"  Miss  Marylyn,"  he  said,  "  before  another  winter  you'll 
be  the  belle  of  the  town  of  Lancaster." 

She  put  her  hand  in  his  bashfully. 

"And,  Miss  Dallas?"  His  voice  entreated  a  little. 

"  I  hope  you'll  be  the  biggest  storekeeper,"  she  said. 

To  Lounsbury's  surprise,  he  saw  a  trace  of  fun  lurking 
in  her  eye.  "  Ah !  you've  forgiven  me ! "  he  declared 
triumphantly. 

But  she  made  no  answer  as  she  turned  away. 

The  next  moment  he  was  galloping  toward  the  coulee 
crossing. 

Marylyn  watched  him  go.  When,  having  disappeared 
into  the  ravine,  he  came  into  sight  again  on  the  farther 
side,  he  turned  in  his  saddle  and  saw  her.  He  took  off  his 
hat  and  waved  it.  She  answered  with  a  farewell  signal, 
and  stood,  looking  after  him,  until  distance  dwarfed  horse 
and  rider  to  a  dot. 

On  the  storekeeper's  departure,  the  shack  became  a 
scene  of  action.  Lancaster  gave  over  walking  the  floor 
and  collected  bedding  for  a  journey.  Marylyn  was  called 
in  to  prepare  a  box  of  food  for  her  father — potatoes  from 


24  The  Plow-Woman 

the  coals  of  the  fireplace,  cured  pig-meat  from  the  souse- 
barrel,  bread,  and  a  jug  of  coffee.  While  Dallas  caught 
the  mules,  gave  them  some  grain  and  a  rubbing-down  with 
straw  wisps,  and  greased  the  wagon  wheels.  All  being 
made  ready,  the  section-boss  took  leave  of  his  daughters, 
urging  them  to  keep  within  the  next  day  when  the  sur- 
veyors came  up,  and  to  deny  his  going.  Then,  with  Ben 
and  Betty  at  a  smart  trot,  he  set  off  for  Bismarck  and  the 
land-office. 

When  he  was  gone,  the  squat  shack  on  the  bend  became 
vigilant.  Ceaselessly  its  eyes  covered  the  stretch  of  road 
between  ferry-landing  and  coulee — ceaselessly,  though 
Dallas  alone  kept  watch  for  wayfarers.  Not  until  night 
fell,  and  the  cloud-masked  moon  disappeareed  behind  the 
western  bluffs,  were  small  blankets  pinned  into  place  across 
the  windows,  and  the  peering  shock  head  made  sightless. 

But  even  with  the  house  darkened,  the  early  supper  eaten 
and  Marylyn  asleep  in  her  bed  before  the  hearth,  the  elder 
girl  still  kept  on  the  alert.  A  nervousness  born  of  loneliness 
had  taken  possession  of  her.  If  the  doorlatch  rattled,  she 
raised  herself,  listening.  If  Simon  rubbed  himself  against 
the  warm  outer  stones  of  the  fireplace,  she  sprang  up, 
a  startled  sentinel,  with  wide  eyes  and  clenched  hands. 

But  an  hour  passed.  The  wind  lulled.  Simon  lay  down. 
She  fell  to  thinking  of  the  storekeeper.  She  felt  surer 
than  ever,  now,  that  he  did  not  covet  the  bend.  Setting 
aside  the  fact  that  he  had  brought  them  good  news,  she  was 
glad  he  had  come.  It  gave  them  a  neighbour.  And,  yes, 
she  forgave  him  the  smile  that  had  provoked  her  resent- 
ment. After  all,  the  name  Dallas  did  sound  Texas. 

With  morning,  and  the  rising  of  the  sun,  she  was  up 


A  Trip  and  Trouble  Ahead  25 

and  doing  the  few  chores  about  lean-to  and  shack.  But 
when  the  surveyors  arrived,  making  short  work  of  their 
last  few  miles,  she  and  Marylyn  shut  themselves  in  and 
escaped  being  seen.  The  engineers  gone  toward  Clark's, 
Dallas  again  took  up  her  watch. 

Twice  before  night  she  was  rewarded.  The  mail- 
sergeant  passed,  bringing  a  batch  of  letters  to  a  grateful 
post;  and,  late  in  the  afternoon,  an  Indian  runner  came 
into  sight  from  up  the  Missouri.  Scorning  to  use  the  ferry, 
he  dropped  into  the  river,  where  the  coulee  emptied,  and 
swam  across. 

The  arrival  of  the  scout  Dallas  associated  instinctively 
with  the  expected  return  of  the  troopers,  and  felt  a  relief 
that  she  would  not  have  cared  to  confess  to  her  father. 
The  unusual  bustle  that  marked  the  next  three  days  at 
Brannon  seemed  to  justify  her  belief.  Below  the  barracks, 
on  the  level  bottom-land,  men  were  busy  erecting  a  strange 
structure.  Tall  cottonwoods  were  hauled  from  the  river 
and  set  on  end  in  the  sandy  ground.  As  time  passed,  these 
came  to  form  a  tight,  circular  pen. 

The  night  of  the  third  day  there  was  activity  on  the 
other  bank  of  the  Missouri.  Unknown  to  shack  and  fort, 
the  squalid  line  of  shanty  saloons  that  stretched  itself 
like  a  waiting  serpent  along  a  high  bench  opposite  the  new 
stockade,  sprang  into  sudden  life.  Two  wagons  filled  with 
men  and  barrels  crossed  the  bend  and  emptied  themselves 
into  the  dilapidated  buildings.  And  far  into  the  early 
hours,  loud  laughter,  the  click  of  chips  and  the  clink  of 
glasses  disturbed  the  quiet  of  the  night.  At  dawn,  an 
officer,  standing,  field-glass  in  hand,  on  the  gallery  at 
headquarters,  saw  two  wagons  drawn  up  in  front  of  Shanty 


26  The  Plow-Woman 

Town   and   called   down   a  curse  upon  the  heads   of  the 
sleeping  revellers. 

"  Just  see  there !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Some  vermin  got 
wind  of  the  paymasters  coming  and  are  here  to  fleece 
the  men." 

A  lieutenant  sauntered  up,  putting  out  his  hand  for  the 
glasses.  "  There  wasn't  a  soul  in  those  huts  yesterday," 
he  said. 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  sputtered  the  other.  "  The  devils 
stayed  at  Clark's  till  the  punchers  got  back  from  Kansas 
City.  Now,  they're  on  hand  to  keep  our  guard-house  and 
hospital  full.  By  gad !  if  I  commanded  here,  I'd  have  the 
whole  street  fired." 

"  Well,"  said  the  lieutenant,  "  the  men  have  a  way  of 
disciplining  that  kind,  themselves.  Some  day,  when  a 
favourite  is  cut  in  a  brawl  or  cheated  at  cards,  they'll 
shoot  up  the  place.  If  there's  anything  left,  it  '11  move 
on." 

"  It  won't  do  any  harm  to  keep  an  eye  on  Shanty  Town, 
all  the  same,"  declared  his  companion,  fiercely.  "  Remem- 
ber the  man  that  ran  it  last  year?  Slick,  by  gad !  Why,  the 
paymaster  might  just  as  well  have  stopped  over  there — 
he  and  his  ilk  got  every  cent !  He  wasn't  a  *  bad  '  man, 
mind  you — not  brave  enough  for  that,  but  keen-nosed  as 
a  moose,  conceited  as  an  Indian " 

"  What  was  his  name  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Dick  or  Vic  Something-or-other,  I  don't  know 
what.  He's  a  bragging  renegade,  anyway." 

Unaware  of  a  reconnoitre,  the  occupants  of  the  line  of 
shanties  slumbered  serenely  on;  and  not  until  noon 
did  high  plumes  of  smoke,  straight  as  the  flag-pole  on 


A  Trip  and  Trouble  Ahead  27 

the  parade-ground,  announce,  to  the  secretly  delighted 
troopers  at  Brannon,  their  tardy  rising. 

Dallas,  too,  saw  the  busy  chimneys.  But  while  watching 
them  intently  from  an  open  window,  her  attention  was 
attracted,  all  at  once,  in  the  opposite  direction.  She  heard, 
coming  out  of  the  coulee,  a  chorus  of  shrill  talking,  like 
the  pow-wow  of  a  flock  of  prairie-chickens.  Then,  a  horse 
snorted,  and  there  was  a  low  rumble  of  wheels.  Thinking 
that  it  was  her  father,  she  leaned  into  sight.  As  she  did 
so  a  team  came  scrambling  over  the  scarlet  brink,  drag- 
ging a  wagon  full  of  men  and  women. 

As  the  horses  gained  the  level  prairie,  their  driver  laid 
aside  a  huge  blacksnake  whip  with  which  he  had  been 
soundly  whacking  them,  and  looked  about.  The  next  mo- 
ment, Dallas  saw  him  rein  in  his  team  and  spring  to  his 
feet.  He  was  looking  toward  the  shack,  and  he  raised  his 
whip-hand  menacingly. 

"Look  at  that!  Look  at  that!"  he  cried  wildly,  his 
voice  carrying  through  the  clear  air. 

All  looked  where  he  pointed,  and  someone  in  the  back 
of  the  wagon  cursed. 

"What  d'  you  call  that  for  luck?"  yelled  the  man, 
shaking  his  mittened  fist.  "  If  Nick  knew  that ! " 

Dallas  could  not  hear  the  mingled  answers  of  his  com- 
panion. 

"  Well,  I  call  it  damned " 

A  woman  reached  up  and  pulled  him  into  his  seat.  There 
was  another  shrill  chorus,  the  man  whacked  the  horses  till 
they  reared,  and  the  wagon  went  rumbling  on. 

Dallas  watched  it  until  it  disappeared  into  the  cut  at 
the  landing.  Then  she  sank  upon  a  bench.  For  a  long  time 


28  The  Plow-Woman 

she  sat,  dumb  and  immovable,  her  eyes  on  the  floor.  When, 
finally,  she  got  up,  she  felt  about  her,  as  if  overcome  by 
blindness. 

Marylyn  had  not  seen  or  heard  the  threatening  wagon- 
driver.  Seated  comfortably  on  the  robe  by  the  fire,  she 
strung  beads  and  hummed  contentedly. 

Dallas  started  toward  her — stopped — then  moved  slowly 
back  to  the  window,  where  she  took  up  her  watch. 

Late  that  night  she  sprang  from  fitful,  troubled  sleep 
to  hear  Simon  lowing  and  moving  about  restlessly.  A  few 
moments  afterward,  there  came  a  mule's  long  bray  from 
below  the  shack,  followed  by  the  voice  of  the  section-boss, 
urging  on  the  team.  She  found  her  long  cloak  and  hastened 
out. 

She  could  not  wait  for  the  wagon  to  stop  before  calling 
anxiously  to  her  father.  "  Did  you  file?  "  she  asked,  walk- 
ing beside  Betty. 

Lancaster  did  not  answer,  but  scolded  feebly,  as  if  worn 
with  his  long  trip.  "  W'y  d'  y'  fret  a  man  'fore  he  c'n 
git  down  an'  into  th'  house?  "  he  demanded.  "  Ah'm  plumb 
fruz  t'  death,  an'  hungry." 

She  helped  him  over  the  wheel  and  through  the  door. 
Then  she  went  back  and,  in  feverish  haste,  stabled  the 
mules.  On  entering  the  shack,  now  dimly  lighted  by  a  fire, 
she  did  not  need  to  repeat  her  question.  She  read  the 
answer  in  her  father's  face. 

"  No  use,"  Lancaster  told  her,  raising  wet,  tired  eyes 
to  hers.  "  Th'  claim  was  gone  'fore  ever  we  got  here — 
filed  on  las'  July."  He  lay  down,  muttering  in  a  delirium 
of  grief  and  physical  weariness. 

The  fire,  made  only  of  dry  grass,  began  to  die.  the 


A  Trip  and  Trouble  Ahead  29 

room  to  darken.  Dallas'  face  shadowed  with  it.  She  was 
thinking  of  the  level  quarter  that  was  to  have  blossomed 
under  her  eager  hands ;  that  was  to  have  brought  comfort 
to  Marylyn  and  her  crippled  father.  And  now  the  land  was 
gone  from  them,  had  never  been  theirs — they  were  only 
squatters. 

Any  hour,  a  nameless  man — perhaps  he  who  had  gone 
by  that  day — might  descend  upon  them  and 

The  bail  of  a  bubbling  pot  slipped  down  the  bar  that 
held  it,  and  the  vessel  clattered  upon  the  hearth.  She 
started  as  if  a  gun  had  exploded  at  her  elbow. 


CHAPTER  III 
DALLAS    MAKES   A   FRIEND 

Y-A-A-AS,"  drawled  Lancaster,  reflectively,  gnaw- 
ing the  while  at  a  fresh  slab  of  tobacco,  "we 
jes'  nat'ally  mavericked  this  claim." 

A  fortnight  had  passed  since  his  return  from 
the  land-office.  In  that  time,  his  fear  had  slowly  vanished, 
his  confidence  returned.  And  he  had  begun  to  show  streaks 
of  the  bravado  that,  in  his  stronger  days,  made  him  an 
efficient  section-boss.  Rosy  dreams,  even,  beset  his  brain — 
dreams  upon  which  Marylyn,  despising  her  father's  meaner 
structures  (and  kept  in  ignorance  of  what  might,  at  any 
moment,  raze  them),  piled  many  a  rainbow  palace.  For, 
to  the  younger  girl,  certain  calico-covered  books  on  the 
mantel  had  invested  the  events  of  the  fortnight  just  gone 
with  a  delightful  tinge  of  romance. 

Dallas,  however,  took  a  sensible  view  of  their  situation. 
She  pointed  out  that  the  man  who  had  made  an  entry  for 
the  land  would,  in  all  probability,  return;  and  that  if  he 
did  not,  five  years,  at  least,  would  pass  before  the  railroad 
reached  them.  Meanwhile,  the  quarter-section  should  be 
properly  filed  upon  for  possession  and  farmed  for  a  living. 
Now,  as  she  brushed  the  hearth  clean  with  the  wing  of  a 
duck,  she  listened  quietly  to  her  father's  confident  boasting. 
"  It's  this  way,  m'  gal : "  he  said — he  compassed  a 
goodly  quid  and  shifted  it  dexterously  into  the  sagging 

30 


Dallas  Makes  a  Friend  31 

pocket  of  a  cheek — "  Inside  o'  six  months  after  a  man  files, 
he's  got 't'  dig  a  dugout  er  put  up  a  shanty.  He's  got  t' 
do  a  leetle  farm-work,  an'  sleep  on  his  claim.  When  thet 
six  months  is  up,  ef  he  ain't  done  no  buildin'  er  farmin', 
th'  claim's  abandoned,  an'  th'  first  man  comin'  along  c'n 
hev  it. 

"  In  this  case,  th'  gent  in  question  ain't  built,  dug  er 
farmed.  Ef  he  was  t'  show  up  an'  want  this  quarter,  he 
could  git  it  by  payin'  fer  our  improvements.  Ah  reckon 
we'd  hev  t'  sell  an'  pull  our  freight.  But  ef  he  was  t'  show 
up  an'  not  pay  like  a'  honest  man,  they'd — they'd — wal, 
they'd  likely  be  a  leetle  disagreement." 

Dallas  shook  her  head.  "  If  he  comes  before  his  six 
months  is  up  and  improves,  we  got  to  go.  That  would 
be  the  only  square  thing.  Ain't  it  so  ?  " 

"  Wal — wal "  began  Lancaster,  lamely. 

"  It  is,"  she  said.  "  He  filed  on  the  quarter,  and  we  had 
no  right  to  settle " 

"  We  hev  settled,  an'  th'  Ian'  's  goin'  t'  be  worth  money," 
broke  in  her  father. 

She  put  up  her  hand.  "  We  got  to  go,  if  he  comes. 
But " — she  arose  wearily — "  if  he  didn't  offer  pay  for 
our  improvements,  how  could  we  go,  or  get  through  the 
winter,  or  build  again  next  spring?  Our  money's  gone." 

"  Look  a-here,  Dallas,"  began  her  father,  crossly,  "  they 
ain't  no  use  t'  worry  th'  way  you  do.  Winter  is  clost. 
It  ain't  likely  th'  man'll  come  along  this  late.  An'  ef  he 
don5  show  up  pretty  soon,  he  ain't  got  a  chanst.  'Cause, 
when  his  six  months  is  gone,  Ah'll  make  another  trip  t' 
Bismarck,  contes'  his  entry,  hev  it  cancelled  an'  file.  Then, 
we's  safe." 


32  The  Plow-Woman 

She  silenced  him,  for  Marylyn  was  entering,  and  quit 
the  shack.  Outside,  before  the  warped  door,  she  paused. 

"  He's  always  so  sure  of  himself.  But  he  can't  do  any- 
thing. And  Marylyn — Oh,  I  wish  there  was  someone  with 
us,  now — someone  that  'd  help  us  if  anything — went 
wrong." 

Of  a  sudden,  looking  down  at  her  hands,  her  eyes  fell 
upon  the  crimson  stripes  left  across  her  palms  by  the 
plow.  And,  in  fancy,  a  horseman  was  riding  swiftly 
toward  her  from  the  east,  again,  while  she  leaned  on  the 
cross-brace  and  waited. 

"  Twenty  miles,"  she  said  thoughtfully ;  "  twenty 
miles."  And  turned  the  marks  under. 

Sun-baked,  deep  of  rut  and  straight  as  the  flight  of  a 
crow,  lay  the  road  that  led  northeast  from  the  swift, 
shoally  ford  of  the  Missouri  to  the  cattle-camp  at  Clark's. 
It  began  at  the  rough  planking  upon  which  the  rickety 
ferry-boat,  wheezing  like  some  asthmatic  monster,  dis- 
charged its  load  of  soldiers  or  citizens,  and  ran  up  through 
the  deep  cut  in  the  steep,  caving  river-bank.  From  there, 
over  the  western  end  of  the  Lancaster  quarter,  across  the 
coulee  under  a  hub-depth  of  muddy  backwater — at  the 
only  point  where  the  sumach-grown  sides  sloped  gradually 
— it  took  its  level,  unswerving  way. 

Twice  only  in  its  course  did  it  touch  the  ravine  curving 
along  near  by  it — once,  six  miles  from  the  ferry-landing, 
where,  on  the  limbs  of  a  cluster  of  giant  cottonwoods  that 
grew  in  the  bottom  of  the  gully,  a  score  of  Indian  dead 
were  lashed,  their  tobacco-pipes,  jerked  beef  and  guns 
under  the  blanket  wrappings  that  hid  them ;  and,  again,  at 


Dallas  Makes  a  Friend  33 

Murphy's  Throat,  four  miles  farther  up,  where  the  coulee 
narrowed  until  a  man,  standing  in  its  bed  with  arms  out- 
stretched, could  place  the  tips  of  his  fingers  against  either 
rocky  wall.  Beyond  the  Throat,  the  crack  in  the  plains 
grew  wider  and  shallower,  veered  out  to  the  eastward,  and, 
at  last,  came  to  an  abrupt  end  in  a  high  meadow  below 
the  distant  river-bluffs. 

For  decades  the  road  had  been  a  buffalo-trail,  a  foot 
wide  and  half  as  deep,  that,  in  the  dry  season,  guided  the 
herds  in  single  file  from  the  caking  meadow  to  the  distant 
waters  of  the  Missouri;  then  the  travee  poles  of  Indian 
tribes  gave  it  the  semblance  of  a  wagon  track,  the  centre 
of  which  was  worn  bare  by  the  hoofs  of  laden  ponies  and 
the  feet  of  trudging  squaws;  and,  finally,  the  lumbering 
carts  of  traders,  the  Studebakers  of  settlers,  and  those 
heavier  wagons  that  roll  in  the  rear  of  marching  men,  made 
of  the  track  a  plain  and  hardened  highway. 

Down  it,  that  morning,  approaching  to  the  accompani- 
ment of  loud  talking,  the  tramping  of  horses,  the  cracking 
of  whips  and  the  jingling  of  spurs,  came  a  long  procession. 
Yet  so  absorbed  was  Dallas  in  her  plowing  that  not 
until  the  head  of  its  column  was  close  upon  her  and  there 
was  barely  time  to  go  to  the  bridles  of  the  frightened 
mules  did  she  see  it. 

A  tanned,  unkempt  officer  led  the  way,  with  baying  fox- 
hounds running  about  him.  On  either  hand  rode  his  staff, 
and  his  scouts — Arickaree  Indians,  in  patched  breeches  and 
dusty  blankets.  And  behind,  full-bearded,  all  military  look 
gone  from  their  boots,  hats  and  uniforms,  came  the  cav- 
alry, riding  two  and  two,  and  flying  torn  and  faded 
guidons. 


34  The  Plow-Woman 

Dallas  had  no  chance  to  view  the  front  of  the  command, 
for  the  mules  claimed  all  her  attention  by  hauling  back 
on  their  bits.  But  now  they  quieted  a  little,  and  she  was 
free  to  watch  the  dozen  or  so  musicians  who  came  next, 
mounted,  with  their  brass  instruments  in  hand.  She  saw 
that  these  men  were  nudging  one  another,  and  directing 
at  her  glances  which  were  bold  and  amused. 

Something  of  her  father's  hatred  of  soldiers  stirred  her. 
She  grew  defiant;  yet  only  for  a  moment.  The  musicians 
trotted  by,  and  now  Indians  were  passing — men,  women 
and  children,  whose  stolid  faces  disclosed  no  hint  of  grief 
or  hatred  for  their  captivity.  The  braves,  twenty  in  num- 
ber, formed  the  head  of  the  band,  and  kept  no  order  of 
march  as  they  spurred  forward  their  ragged,  foot-sore 
ponies.  Their  Springfield  rifles,  knives  and  tomahawks  had 
been  taken  from  them,  but  they  still  carried  their  once  gay 
lances,  and  shields  of  buffalo-hide  covered  with  rude  pic- 
tures of  the  chase  and  battle.  But  though  on  other  occa- 
sions these  would  have  betokened  the  free  warrior,  they 
now  only  emphasised  by  contrast  the  blankets  that  trailed 
ingloriously  from  their  wearers'  shoulders  to  the  ground 
and  the  drooping  feathers  of  the  conquered  chiefs. 

A  war-priest,  whose  string  of  bears'  claws,  triple 
feathers,  charms  and  bag  plainly  betokened  the  medicine- 
man, headed  the  tribe.  He  was  seated  upon  a  gaudily 
decorated  saddle ;  the  nose-band,  front  and  cheek-pieces  of 
his  horse's  bridle  were  thickly  studded  with  brass  nails; 
bright  pom-poms  of  coloured  wool  swung  from  the  curb 
and  the  throat-latch ;  and  the  nag's  tail  was  stiffly  braided 
with  strips  of  woolen — scarlet  and  yellow  and  blue.  Close 
beside  him  rode  two  stately  braves  of  high  rank,  their 


Dallas  Makes  a  Friend  35 

mounts  as  richly  caparisoned,  their  buckskin  shirts  gor- 
geous with  bead  and  porcupine-quill  embroidery,  otter-skin 
head-dresses  upon  their  hair.  Like  their  leader,  the  dusky 
faces  of  the  two  Indians  and  of  those  forming  the  rest  of 
the  party  were  hideously  painted,  showing  that  all  had  but 
recently  been  upon  the  warpath. 

The  other  half  of  the  redskin  company  was  more  squalid. 
A  score  of  spotted,  sway-backed  ponies  crept  along,  bear- 
ing and,  at  the  same  time,  dragging,  heavy  loads.  Each 
saddle  held  a  squaw  and  one  or  more  small  children — the 
squaw  with  a  cocoon-like  papoose  strapped  to  her  back. 
And  at  the  tail  of  each  horse,  surrounded  by  limping  In- 
dian dogs,  came  a  travee  laden  with  a  wounded  or  aged 
Indian,  or  heaped  with  cooking  utensils,  blankets  and  buf- 
falo-skins. 

One  woman  of  all  the  squaws  rode  a  pony  that  had  not 
a  double  burden.  She  was  dressed  in  buckskin  and  bright 
calico,  and  sat  upon  a  blanket  that  almost  covered  her 
horse.  Her  hair  was  braided  neatly,  her  dark  cheeks  were 
daubed  with  carmine.  She  kept  a  rigid  seat  as  she  passed 
Dallas,  and  her  black  eyes  answered  the  other's  kindly 
look  with  one  full  of  sullen  pride.  Beside  her  hobbled  an 
aged  hag  across  whose  wrinkled  mouth  and  chin  was  a 
deep  and  livid  scar. 

When  the  Indians  were  past,  more  troopers  followed. 
After  them  trundled  a  half-dozen  light  field-pieces,  the 
wagon-train,  and  ambulances  filled  with  sick  or  wounded 
soldiers,  all  under  the  conduct  of  a  rear-guard.  Soon, 
the  entire  cavalcade  was  gone,  and  had  halted  on  the  river- 
bank  to  wait  the  ferry,  Dallas  was  alone  again,  listen- 
ing to  the  faint  strains  of  the  band  which,  from  the 


36  The  Plow-Woman 

cut,  was  gallantly  announcing  the  return  from  the  long 
campaign. 

At  the  door  of  the  shack,  Lancaster  and  his  younger 
daughter  were  watching  the  portage,  piecemeal,  of  the 
troops.  But  Dallas,  starting  the  team  again,  saw  father 
and  sister  suddenly  turn  from  the  landing  to  look  and 
point  toward  the  coulee.  Glancing  that  way,  too,  she  saw 
the  object  of  their  interest.  Over  the  brink  into  sight  was 
toiling  a  strange  figure,  bent  and  almost  hidden  under  an 
unwieldy  load. 

She  moved  aside  in  some  trepidation  to  await  the  crea- 
ture's advance.  Upon  its  back,  as  it  tottered  along,  was  a 
score  of  pots  and  pans,  tied  together,  and  topped  by  a 
sack  of  buffalo-chips  that,  at  each  slow  step,  rolled  first 
to  one  hand  and  then  to  the  other.  Yet  with  all  the  diffi- 
culty of  balancing  the  fuel-sack  and  preventing  its  falling 
to  the  ground,  the  straggler  did  not  fail  to  keep  in  place 
a  drab  face-covering. 

The  mules  stood  perfectly  quiet  until  the  figure  was 
near.  Then  they  became  uneasy  for  the  second  time,  and 
shied  back  upon  the  plow,  tangling  their  harness. 

The  effect  of  this  was  startling.  The  sack  of  chips  came 
tumbling  off  the  pots  and  pans,  spilling  upon  the  roadway. 
The  tin  things  followed  with  a  crash.  And,  with  a  grunt, 
the  bent  figure  retreated  a  few  steps  and  uncovered  its 
face. 

In  very  amazement  Dallas  let  go  the  mules.  The  crea- 
ture facing  her  was  young  and  pitifully  thin.  About  a 
face  dripping  with  perspiration  fell  a  mop  of  tangled  hair. 
Under  a  tattered  mourning  blanket,  a  bulging  calico  waist 
disclosed,  through  many  rents,  a  lean  and  bony  chest.  And 


Dallas  Makes  a  Friend  37 

below  the  leather  strap  that  belted  both  the  sombre  blanket 
and  the  waist,  hung  limply  the  shreds  of  a  fringed  buck- 
skin petticoat.  The  straggler  was  an  Indian — a  male — 
yet,  despite  his  sex,  he  wore,  not  a  brave's  dress,  but  the 
filthy,  degrading  garb  of  a  squaw ! 

He  watched  Dallas  with  cowed,  questioning  eyes, 
strangely  soft  and  un-Indian  in  their  expression.  After  a 
moment,  seeing  that  he  was  ill,  as  well  as  unarmed,  she 
ceased  to  feel  afraid  of  him. 

"  How,"  she  said,  in  greeting. 

He  made  no  reply,  only  continued  to  watch  her  steadily. 

"  How,"  she  repeated,  and  smiled. 

His  eyes  instantly  brightened. 

"  You  sick  ?  "  she  asked,  moving  her  head  sorrowfully 
in  pantomime. 

For.  answer,  he  shambled  closer  and  held  up  first  one 
naked  foot  and  then  the  other,  like  a  suffering  hound. 
Dallas  saw  that  they  were  sore  from  stone  bruises  and 
bleeding  from  cactus  wounds. 

"  Oh,  you're  hurt !  "  she  cried. 

The  Indian  nodded,  and  at  once  made  her  a  dumb  ap- 
peal. Lowering  himself  stiffly  until  he  was  seated  upon 
the  dead  grass  before  her,  he  pointed  eloquently  into  his 
wide-open  mouth. 

Dallas  understood.  "  Hungry,"  she  said. 

He  nodded  again. 

She  had  never  heard  a  scoffing  white  declare  that  the 
red  man  is,  above  all,  a  beggar,  so  she  did  not  delay 
answering  his  mute  petition.  She  stooped  to  examine  again 
the  cuts  and  bruises  on  his  feet.  Then,  "  Wait  till  I  come 
back,"  she  bade  him,  and  his  vigorous  nod  assured  her 


38  The  Plow-Woman 

that  he  understood  what  she  said.   She  hurried  away  to 
the  shack. 

She  tarried  only  long  enough  to  tell  her  father  of  the 
straggler  and  to  hear  his  objections  at  her  "  fussin' ' 
with  a  "  no-'count  Injun."  Returning,  she  found  her 
charge  patiently  waiting  for  her.  As  she  came  up,  he  was 
facing  the  ford,  where,  amid  cursing,  shouting  and 
trumpet  blares,  some  troopers  were  trying  to  induce  the 
balky  ambulance  mules  to  go  aboard  the  boat.  But  when 
she  handed  him  a  crockery  plate  heaped  with  boiled  po- 
tatoes, cold  meat  and  pancakes,  and  a  piece  of  suet 
wound  in  a  soft  white  cloth,  he  became  indifferent  to  the 
lively  doings  at  the  landing  and  began  to  eat  as  if 
famished. 

He  made  such  rapid  headway  that,  before  Dallas 
realised  it,  the  food  was  gone,  the  plate  scraped  clean  and 
the  suet  direly  threatened.  He  gave  her  a  puzzled  look  as 
she  put  forth  a  hand  objectingly. 

"  No,  no,"  she  said.  And  while  she  tore  the  soft  cloth 
into  strips,  she  put  the  fat  out  of  reach  by  slipping  it 
into  a  skirt  pocket. 

The  bandages  ready,  she  knelt  before  him  and  tenderly 
swathed  his  wounds. 

"  There !  "  she  said,  as  she  finished.  "  Now,  you'd  better 
hurry.  The  soldiers  are  almost  over,  and  you'll  be  too  late 
to  get  across  dry." 

He  scrambled  up,  but,  ignoring  her  advice,  put  one 
hand  through  a  rent  in  his  squaw's  waist  and  began  to 
search  for  something.  Presently,  he  brought  forth  a  pack- 
age done  up  in  dirty  muslin,  and  slowly  unfastened  it. 
A  folded  paper  as  soiled  as  its  wrapper  fell  out.  It  was 


Dallas  Makes  a  Friend  39 

worn  through  much  handling  and  covered  with  pencilled 
words.  He  handed  it  to  Dallas. 

At  first,  she  could  not  decipher  it.  But  after  studying 
it  carefully  and  placing  together  several  detached  bits 
she  was  able  to  make  it  out.  It  was  written  scrawlingly 
and  in  a  trembling  hand. 

"  The  bearer  of  this  [it  read]  the  good  chief,  Red  Moon, 
I  commend  to  the  gentleness  and  mercy  of  every  God-fearing 
man  and  woman.  Once,  out  of  the  weakness  of  the  flesh,  he 
wept  under  the  tortures  of  a  sun-dance.  Since  then  he  has 
been  abused,  starved,  and  spat  upon.  Yet,  hearing  from  me 
of  Christ,  His  suffering,  and  His  command  to  forgive,  he 
has  put  down  his  desire  to  revenge  his  wrongs  in  blood,  and 
goes  on  his  way,  labouring  and  enduring  in  silence.  May  God 
be  gracious  to  whomsoever  aids  this  least  one  among  us." 

Here  the  letter  ended,  but  underneath  was  the  signature 
— so  fingered,  however,  that  Dallas  could  spell  out  only 
the  word  "  David  " — and  a  blurred  postscript  which  said : 

"  I  have  christened  him  Charles,  and  taught  him  English, 
but  since  his  punishment  he  has  never " 

The  remainder  of  the  paper  was  illegible. 

When  Dallas  gave  it  back  to  the  Indian,  he  wrapped 
it  up  carefully  and  returned  it  to  his  bosom.  Then  he 
gathered  up  the  scattered  chips,  lifted  his  double  load  to 
his  shoulders,  drew  his  sombre  blanket  close  about  him? 
and  shambled  slowly  away. 

"  Poor  thing !  "  said  Dallas,  in  compassion. 

He  stopped  to  look  back. 

"  Good-by,"  she  said  as  he  went  on ;  "  good-by." 


40  The  Plow-Woman 

When  he  reached  the  river-bank,  he  turned  again.  The 
frost-blighted  cottonwoods  'that  bordered  the  Missouri 
were  behind  him,  gleaming  as  yellowly  as  if,  during  the 
short,  hot  summer,  their  leafy  branches  had  caught  and 
imprisoned  all  the  sunshine.  Against  that  belt  of  brilliant 
colour  stood  out  his  spare,  burdened  frame. 

Watching,  she  saw  his  gaunt  face  slowly  relax  in  a 
friendly  grin. 


CHAPTER   IV 
MISUNDERSTANDINGS 

SNOW  fell  on  the  very  heels  of  the  cavalry.  Scarcely 
were   the   Indians    safe   in   the   stockade   and   the 
troopers  once  more  in  barracks,  when  some  first 
flakes,   like  down   plucked  by   the  wind   from  the 
breasts  of  the  southward-hastening  wild-fowl,  came  float- 
ing out  of  the  sky.   Soon  the  long  sumach  leaves  on  the 
coulee  edge  were  drooping  under  a  crystalline  weight,  the 
black  plowed  strip  was  blending  with  the  unplowed  prairie, 
and  the  shock  head  of  the  cottonwood  shack  was  donning 
a  spotless  night-cap.     And  so  heavy  and  ceaseless  was  the 
downfall  that,  at  supper-time,  the  sweet  trumpet  notes  of 
"  retreat "  were  wafted  out  from  Brannon  across  a  covered 
plain. 

When  morning  dawned,  the  heavens  were  cloudless,  and 
the  laggard  sun,  as  it  rose,  shone  with  blinding  glory  upon 
peaceful  miles.  Nowhere  was  a  sign  of  wallow,  path  or 
road,  and  the  coulee  yawned,  white-lipped.  Even  the  Mis- 
souri was  not  unchanged.  For,  away  to  the  northwest, 
there  had  been  a  mighty  rainstorm,  and  the  mutkj  river 
tumbled  by  in  waves  that  were  angry  and  swollen. 

Since  his  early  boyhood,  the  section-boss  had  not  known 
snow.  Before  the  previous  day,  Dallas  and  Marytyn  had 
never  seen  it.  It  was  with  exclamations  of  delight,  there- 
fore, that,  crowding  together  in  the  doonvay,  the  three 
first  caught  sight  of  the  glistening  drifts. 

41 


42  The  Plow-Woman 

"  Pa,  it's  like  a  Christmas  card,"  cried  the  younger  girl. 
And,  bareheaded,  she  ran  out  to  frolic  before  the  shack. 

To  Dallas,  the  scene  had  a  deeper  meaning.  Here  was 
what  would  discourage  and  block  anyone  who  had  put 
off  necessary  improvements !  And  this  would  last  long  after 
the  expiration  of  that  six  months !  "  I  guess  there'll  be 
no  building  or  plowing  now"  she  said  to  her  father, 
happily. 

He,  fully  as  relieved,  returned  a  confident  assent. 

A  little  later,  Old  Michael,  the  ferryman,  drove  by, 
breaking  a  track  along  the  blotted  road.  His  ancient 
corduroys,  known  to  every  river-man  from  Bismarck  to 
Baton  Rouge,  were  hidden  beneath  layers  of  overcoats. 
Through  the  wool  cap  pulled  down  to  his  collar,  two  wide 
holes  gave  him  outlook ;  a  third,  and  smaller  aperture,  was 
filled  by  the  stem  of  a  corn-cob  pipe.  He  was  headed  for 
the  cattle-camp,  the  lines  over  a  four-in-hand  hitched  to 
three  empty  wagons,  a  third  team  tied  to  the  tailboard 
of  the  hindmost  box. 

On  the  arrival  of  the  saloon  gang,  the  pilot  had  left  his 
steamboat  in  the  hands  of  his  two  helpers  and  made  his 
way  to  Shanty  Town.  There,  in  a  shingle  hut,  perched 
atop  a  whisky  cask,  and  kicking  its  rotund  belly  compla- 
cently with  his  heels,  he  had  wet  a  throat,  long  dry,  from 
the  amber  depths  beneath  him. 

With  each  succeeding  glass,  his  obligations  had  grown 
apace.  Nevertheless,  for  a  lifetime  of  rough  service 
had  brought  about  an  immunity  that  belied  his  Celtic 
blood,  his  brain  remained  clear,  his  step  steady  and  his 
eye  unbleared.  Thus  it  happened  that  when,  cut  off  from 
grazing,  it  was  necessary  for  the  Shanty  Town  teams  to 


Misunderstandings  43 

be  returned  at  once  to  Clark's,  Old  Michael  was  on  hand 
and  in  condition  to  take  them,  and,  by  so  doing,  wipe  out 
his  drinking-account. 

As  he  came  opposite  the  shack,  Marylyn  was  still  run- 
ning about  in  the  snow,  while  Dallas  was  sweeping  out 
some  long,  narrow  drifts  that  had  sifted  in  through  win- 
dow- and  door-cracks.  Squinting  across  at  them,  he  re- 
called, all  at  once,  a  heated  conversation  that  had  taken 
place  at  Shanty  Town  the  afternoon  of  the  southward 
departure  of  a  Dodge  City  courier.  And  he  shook  his  head 
sorrowfully. 

"  Ye'll  have  yer  han's  fule  before  long,"  he  advised 
aloud,  "  or  it's  me  that's  not  good  at  guessin'."  And, 
lifting  the  front  of  his  cap,  he  sympathetically  blew  the 
purple  bump  that  served  him  for  a  nose  till  it  rang  through 
the  crisp  air  like  a  throaty  bugle. 

Farther  on,  as  he  sat  pondering  deeply  and  letting  the 
leaders  choose  their  course,  a  horseman  came  cantering 
toward  him,  and  drew  rein  beside  his  wheel.  It  was  Louns- 
bury,  buried  to  the  ears  in  a  buffalo  coat. 

"  Sure,  it's  somethin'  important,  John,  that's  a-bringin' 
ye  out  t'-day,"  cried  Old  Michael,  roguishly,  his  brogue 
disclosing  his  identity.  "  It's  ayther  tillegrams  or 
1-a-a-ydies." 

The  storekeeper  coloured  under  his  visor.  "  It's  nay- 
ther,"  he  mocked  laughingly. 

"  None  o'  yer  shillyshallin',"  warned  the  ferryman, 
giving  the  other  a  playful  whack  with  his  gad.  "  Oi  kin 
rade  ye  loike  a  buke." 

"  You  can't  read  a  book,"  declared  Lounsbury.  "  But 
I'll  tell  you:  I'm  going  to  the  Lancasters'." 


44  The  Plow-Woman 

Old  Michael  nodded,  with  a  sly  wink  through  the  port- 
holes of  his  mask.  "  Oi  knowed  it !  "  he  said.  Then,  after 
fishing  out  a  tobacco-bag  from  under  his  many  coats  and 
lighting  the  corn-cob  in  the  protecting  bowl  of  his  palms, 
"  In  that  case,  man,  Oi  got  somethin'  t'  say  t'  ye." 

He  leaned  over  the  wheel  confidentially,  and  Lounsbury 
bent  toward  him,  so  that  the  smoke  of  the  pipe  fed  the 
storekeeper's  nostrils.  They  talked  for  a  half-hour,  the 
one  relating  his  story,  the  other  putting  in  quick  questions. 
At  the  end  of  their  conversation,  Lounsbury  held  out  his 
hand. 

"  If  their  letter  brings  him,  Mike,"  he  said,  "  don't 
you  fail  to  let  me  know." 

"  Aye,  aye,"  promised  the  pilot,  earnestly. 

They  parted.  Old  Michael  continued  his  way  with  an 
easy  mind.  But  Lounsbury  was  troubled.  Instead  of  car- 
rying— as  on  his  former  visit — good  news  to  the  little 
family  on  the  bend,  he  must  now  be  the  bearer  of  evil. 

And  when,  having  stalled  his  horse  with  Ben  and  Betty, 
he  entered  the  cottonwood  shack,  his  heart  smote  him  still 
more.  For,  secretly,  he  had  hoped  that  he  was  to  tell 
them  what  they  already  knew.  But  it  seemed  precisely  the 
reverse.  There  was  nothing  in  the  appearance  and  actions 
of  the  Lancasters  that  suggested  anxiety.  The  section- 
boss,  though  his  manner  was  not  without  a  certain  reserve 
(as  if  he  half  believed  something  was  about  to  be  wormed 
out  of  him),  greeted  Lounsbury  good-naturedly  enough. 
Marylyn  hurried  up  in  a  timid  flutter  to  take  his  cap  and 
coat.  While,  facing  him  from  the  hearth-side,  her  hair 
coiled  upon  her  head  like  a  crown,  her  grey  eyes  bright, 
her  cheeks  glowing,  was  a  new  Dallas. 


Misunderstandings  45 

"Well,  how've  you  all  been?"  asked  Lounsbury,  ac- 
cepting a  bench. 

"  Oh,  spright  'nough,"  answered  the  section-boss. 
"  But  it's  cold,  it's  cold.  Keeps  me  tremblin'  like  a  guilty 
nigger." 

"  You'll  get  over  that,"  assured  the  other,  rubbing  the 
blood  into  his  hands.  "  It's  natural  for  you  to  be  soft 
as  chalk-rock  the  first  winter — you've  been  living 
South." 

"  Ah  reckon,"  agreed  Lancaster.  He  sat  down  beside 
the  younger  man,  eyeing  him  closely.  "  How  d'  y'  come 
t'  git  away  f  r'm  business  ?  "  he  queried. 

"  Well,  you  see,"  Lounsbury  answered,  "  I've  got  an 
A  1  man  in  my  Bismarck  store,  and  at  Clark's  there's 
nothing  to  do  week  days,  hardly.  So  I  just  took  some  to- 
bacco to  Skinney's,  where  the  boys  could  get  at  it,  and 
loped  down  here."  Then,  playfully,  "  But  I  don't  see  much 
happening  in  these  parts."  He  stretched  toward  a  window. 
"  The  town  of  Lancaster  ain't  growing  very  fast." 

Dallas,  seated  on  a  bench  with  Marylyn,  looked  across 
at  him  smilingly.  "  I'm  glad  of  it,"  she  declared.  "  We 
ain't  used  to  towns." 

"  You  folks  've  never  lived  in  one?  " 

"  No — we  never  even  been  in  one." 

He  puckered  his  forehead.  "  Funny,"  he  said.  "  Some- 
how, I  always  think  of  you  two  as  town  girls." 

"  Aw,  shucks !  "  exclaimed  Lancaster,  scowling. 

But  Dallas  was  leaning  forward,  interested.  "  That's 
on  account  of  our  teachers,"  she  said.  "  There  was  a 
school-house  up  the  track,  in  Texas,  and  we  went  to  it  on 
the  hand-car.  Every  year  we  had  a  different  teacher,  and 


46  The  Plow-Woman 

all  of  'em  came  from  big  Eastern  places  like  New  Orleans 
or  St.  Louis.  So — so  you  see,  we  kinda  got  towny  from 
our  school-ma'ams." 

"  One  had  a  gold  tooth,"  put  in  Marylyn.  Her  eyes, 
wide  with  recollection,  were  fixed  upon  Lounsbury. 

"  But  you  passed  through  cities  coming  north,"  argued 
the  storekeeper. 

"  N-n-no,"  said  Dallas,  slowly ;   "  we — we  skirted  'em." 

"  What  a  pity !  "  He  turned  to  the  section-boss. 

"  Pity !  "  echoed  the  latter.  "  Huh !  You  save  you' 
pity.  My  gals  is  better  off  ef  they  don'  meet  no  town 
hoodlums." 

It  had  been  "  soldier  trash  "  before ;  now,  it  was  "  town 
hoodlums."  Lounsbury  wondered  why  lie  had  been  allowed 
a  second  call.  He  glanced  at  the  girls.  There  was  a  sudden 
shadow  on  each  young  face.  He  changed  to  the  fire,  and 
looked  hard  at  it.  How  cut  off  they  were!  Where  was 
their  happiness — except  in  their  home?  And  could  he  tell 
them  even  that  was  threatened? 

"Not  by  a  long  shot!"  he  vowed.  "I'll  trust  Old 
Michael."  * 

He  set  himself  to  being  agreeable,  and  especially  toward 
the  section-boss.  He  told  of  the  Norwegian  at  Medicine 
Mountain,  and  of  the  old  man  who  lived  with  wife  and 
children  at  the  "  little  bend  "  up  the  river ;  he  admired  the 
Navajo  blankets,  and  explained  their  symbolic  figures  of 
men,  animals  and  suns;  he  leaned  back,  clasping  a  knee, 
and  branched  into  comical  stories. 

The  little  shack  awoke  to  unaccustomed  merriment. 
Lancaster  warmed  to  the  storekeeper's  genial  attentions, 
and  burst  into  frequent  guffaws ;  Dallas  and  Marylyn  f ol- 


Misunderstandings  47 

lowed  his  every  word,  breaking  in,  from  time  to  time,  with 
little  gleeful  laughs. 

But  in  the  midst  of  it,  there  came  from  outside  a  start- 
ling interruption:  Shouts,  and  a  loud,  pistol-like  crack- 
ing, powdery  swirls  over  the  windows,  a  frightened  lowing, 
and  heavy  thumps  against  the  shack. 

The  noise  without  produced  a  change  within.  Incredi- 
bly agile,  Lancaster  got  to  a  pane.  While  Dallas,  spring- 
ing up,  screened  Marylyn,  and  waited,  as  if  in  suspense. 

Dark  bulks  now  shot  past,  pursued  by  mounted  men. 
And  very  soon  the  herd  was  gone,  and  all  was  again 
quiet.  Then  followed  a  moment  that  was  full  of  em- 
barrassment. Keenly,  Lounsbury  looked  from  father  to 
daughter,  the  one  striving  to  assume  an  easy  air,  the  other 
incapable  of  hiding  alarm.  All  at  once,  he  felt  certain 
they  shared  Old  Michael's  information.  He  determined  to 
tell  them  that  he,  too,  knew  what  and  whom  they  feared. 

"  Expecting  someone,  Miss  Dallas  ?  "  he  asked  tenta- 
tively. 

The  section-boss  hastened  to  answer.  "  Expectin' 
nothing"  he  snapped.  Then,  to  cut  short  any  further  ques- 
tioning, "  Dallas,  y'  clean  forgot  them  mules  t'-day.  Lawd 
help  us  !  y'  goin'  t'  let  'em  starve?  " 

Lounsbury  sat  quiet,  realising  that  the  team  was  but 
a  pretext.  The  elder  girl  found  her  cloak,  picked  up  a 
bucket  and  left  the  room.  Marylyn  shrank  into  the  dusk 
at  the  hearth-side.  Lancaster  was  hobbling  up  and 
down,  his  crutch-ends  digging  at  the  packed  dirt  of  the 
floor. 

The  storekeeper,  putting  aside  his  determination,  went 
on  as  though  he  had  not  noticed  the  other's  attitude.  "  The 


48  The  Plow- Woman 

storm  was  hard  on  the  stock  last  night.  They  must  'a' 
drifted  thirty  miles  with  it.  Our  loss  is  big,  likely.  The 
punchers'll  bunch  everything  on  four  hoofs  and  drive  'em 
into  the  coulee.  Cows'll  be  out  of  the  wind  there,  and  live 
on  browse  till  the  ground  clears." 

But  as  he  was  talking,  the  section-boss  made  himself 
ready  for  the  cold;  before  he  had  finished,  the  elder  man 
had  disappeared. 

Lounsbury  was  thoroughly  provoked  at  the  treatment 
shown  him — he  was  hurt  at  the  plain  lack  of  faith.  Again, 
he  considered  what  course  to  pursue.  Granted  the  family 
knew  all  he  could  tell  them,  what  would  be  gained  by 
forcing  the  fact  of  his  knowledge  upon  them?  Nothing — 
unless  it  were  more  suspicion  against  himself.  And  if  they 
were  in  ignorance — well,  it  was  better  than  premature 
care.  As  before,  he  decided  to  remain  silent  and  depend 
upon  the  pilot. 

He  glanced  at  Marylyn.  On  her  father's  departure,  she 
had  moved  out  of  the  shadow.  Now,  she  was  sitting  bolt 
upright,  with  fingers  touching  the  bench  at  either  side. 
Her  lips  were  half  parted.  She  was  watching  Lounsbury 
wonderingly. 

The  moment  their  eyes  met,  her  own  fell.  She  reached 
to  the  mantel  for  a  beaded  belt,  and  began  work  upon  it 
precipitately. 

"  What  is  the  prairie  princess  doing  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Making  something."  She  held  the  belt  by  one  hand 
to  let  it  slip  through  the  other. 

He  reached  for  it.  "  My !  it's  pretty !  Wish  you'd  make 
me  a  watch-fob  like  that." 

She  flushed  and  dimpled.  "  I'd  like  to,"  she  said. 


Misunderstandings  49 

"I'll  wear  it  as  an  amulet."  He  gave  her  back  the 
belt,  and  their  hands  touched. 

She  started  nervously. 

*  Why,  Miss  Marylyn ! "  he  said  gently.  "  You  afraid 
of  me?  " 

"  No."  It  was  whispered. 

"  Well,  you  mustn't  be."  His  tone  was  one  that  might 
have  been  used  to  a  child.  "  Since  I  rode  here  a  month 
ago,  I've  thought  of  you  folks  a  lot.  I'd  like  to  do  a  real 
good  turn  for  you.  Perhaps  it's  because  you  girls  seem 
so  lonely " 

"  We're  not  lonely,"  she  declared.  "  The  Fort's  near, 
and  we  can  hear  the  band.  And  pa  says  there'll  be  three 
or  four  steamers  go  by  next  summer." 

The  storekeeper  mentally  kicked  himself.  "  The  idea 
of  suggesting  a  thing  like  that,"  he  growled  inwardly, 
"  when  she  hadn't  even  thought  of  it !  John  Lounsbury, 
you've  got  about  as  much  sense  as  a  fool  mud-hen." 

"  And,"  went  on  Marylyn,  "  there's  the  ladies  at  Fort 
Brannon.  If  pa "  She  hesitated. 

Lounsbury  shook  his  head,  smiling.  "  Well,  I  wouldn't 
count  on  them,  if  I  were  you,"  he  advised,  remembering 
certain  experiences  of  Bismarck  belles.  "  Those  women 
over  there  are  as  clannish  as  crows." 

"  Yes  ?  "  plaintively.  She  went  at  her  beads  again. 

"  As  I  was  saying,"  he  began  once  more,  "  I've  thought 
of  you  folks  a  lot.  Seemed  as  if  I  just  had  to  come  down 
to-day.  And  I  brought  you  something.  See  here ! "  He 
delved  into  the  side  pockets  of  his  coat  and  pulled  out 
two  books. 

"O-o-oh!"  breathed  Marylyn.  "Books!" 


50  The  Plow-Woman 

"  All  I  had,  but  maybe  you'll  like  'em.  They're  love 
stories." 

The  shadow  beyond  the  firelight  claimed  her  again. 

From  the  lean-to  came  the  sound  of  Lancaster's  voice. 
It  was  shrill  with  anger.  A  great  sadness  came  over  the 
storekeeper.  "  I  wish  I  could  come  down  often  and  look 
after  things,"  he  said.  "  You  need  another  man  around." 

There  was  a  short  silence.  Then,  "  Dallas  likes  the  work 
outside,"  she  answered,  very  low,  "  and  driving  Ben  and 
Betty  up  and  down." 

He  nodded.  "But  you?" 

"  I  like  to  stay  in  and  sew." 

"  6  Stay  in  and  sew,'  "  he  mused.  "  That  takes  me  back 
to  the  States.  My  dear  mother  sits  by  the  fire  and  sews. 
Ah !  " — with  big-brotherly  tenderness — "  I  hope  you'll 
never  have  to  do  anything  harder." 

"  Dallas  won't  let  me  work  outside.  She  says  she's  the 
man." 

Dallas — the  man!  Somehow  it  stung  him.  And  then  he 
heard  the  elder  girl  pushing  an  armful  of  hay  before  the 
eager  noses  of  the  mules.  He  got  up  quickly.  "  She  is 
tending  to  those  beasts ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  Why,  if  I'd  'a' 
thought " 

She  rose  also,  a  wavering  figure  in  the  half  light. 

He  picked  up  hat  and  coat,  then  halted.  If  he  offered 
his  help  in  the  lean-to,  what  would  be  his  reception?  He 
felt  utterly  hampered,  and  began  twirling  his  thumbs  like 
a  bashful  cowboy.  Moreover,  Lancaster  had  been  gone  a 
good  while.  Was  his  absence  a  hint  for  his  visitor  to  go? 

The  storekeeper  went  up  to  Marylyn.  "  Good-by,"  he 
said.  "  I  must  be  hiking  along." 


Misunderstandings  51 

She  put  a  trembling  hand  in  his. 

The  latch  clicked  behind  them,  and  the  section-boss 
entered.  Again  the  younger  girl  started,  and  consciously. 

Lancaster  banged  the  door  and  looked  them  over. 
"  Huh !  "  he  snorted  meaningly.  So — he  had  misled  him- 
self with  the  idea  that  Lounsbury  had  come  to  pry  into  the 
matter  of  the  claim.  And  all  the  while,  underneath,  the 
storekeeper  had  had  another  object! 

He  jerked  at  a  bench,  dropped  upon  it  and  flung  his 
crutches  down. 

The  other  saw  the  look  and  heard  the  sniff.  He  believed 
they  arose  from  the  fact  that  he  was  still  there.  "  Just 
going,  Lancaster,"  he  said.  "  So  long." 

"  S'  long." 

"  Good-by,  Miss  Marylyn.  Merry  Christmas  and  a 
Happy  New  Year."  He  gave  her  a  hearty  smile. 

"  Good-by."  She  opened  the  door  for  him. 

John  Lounsbury  passed  out,  regretting  that  he  had  been 
unwelcome;  indignant  that  the  section-boss  had  misjudged 
his  interest  in  the  ownership  of  the  claim.  But  he  would 
have  been  astounded  if  he  had  known  the  real  nature  of 
the  false  impression  he  was  leaving  with  Evan  Lancaster; 
or  had  read  the  thoughts  of  the  younger  girl,  country- 
reared,  unused  to  the  little  courtesies  of  speech  and  action. 
For  there  were  two  who  had  misunderstood  him  that  day. 


CHAPTER   V 
THE    DESPISED 

SQUAW  CHARLEY  crouched,  dull-eyed,  among  the 
dogs.  The  dark  folds   of  his  blanket  were  drawn 
tight    over   his    tattered   waist.  Close    around   his 
feet,  which  were  shod  in  old  and   cracking  moc- 
casins, was  tucked  his  fringed  skirt.  An  empty  grain-sack 
covered  his  head  and  shielded  his  face  from  the  wind.   As 
an  icy  gust  now  and  then  filtered  in  through  the  chinks  of 
the  stockade  wall  and  swept  him,  he  swayed  gently  back 
and  forth;  while  the  tailless  curs  snuggling  against  him 
whined  in  sympathy  and  fought  for  a  warmer  place.  For 
the  kennel  roof  of  shingles,  put  up  in  one  corner  of  the 
enclosure  as  a  protection  for  the  pack,  had  served  only, 
during  the  week  that  followed  the  storm,  to  prevent  the 
pale  beams  of  the  winter  sun  from  reaching  the  pariah 
and  his  dumb  companions. 

Presently  the  flap  of  a  near-by  lodge  was  flung  aside. 
An  Indian  woman  emerged  and  threw  a  handful  of  bones 
toward  the  shelter.  At  once  Squaw  Charley  awoke  to  ac- 
tion. Shedding  sack  and  blanket,  he  scrambled  for- 
ward with  the  half -starved,  yelping  beasts  to  snatch  his 
portion. 

His  bone  picked  clean  of  its  little,  the  pariah  resumed 
his  crouching  seat  once  more ;  and  the  pack  closed  quietly 
about  him,  licking  his  face  and  the  hands  that  had  cuffed 

52 


The  Despised  53 

them  as,  with  much  turning  and  shivering,  they  settled 
down  to  sleep. 

A  warrior  stalked  proudly  past,  ignoring  both  his  dis- 
graced brother  and  the  sentries  that  paced  the  high  board 
walk  at  the  wall's  top.  Two  Indian  lads  approached,  chat- 
tering to  each  other  over  the  heart-shaped  horn  tops  they 
were  swinging  on  buckskin  strings,  and  tarried  a  moment 
to  scoff.  Squaw  Charley  paid  no  heed  to  either  brave  or 
boys.  His  face  was  hidden,  his  eyes  shut.  He  seemed,  like 
the  dogs,  to  be  sleeping. 

Of  a  sudden  there  came  a  shrill  summons  from  a  distant 
wigwam,  and  the  pariah  sprang  up  eagerly.  Afraid-of-a- 
Fawn  stood  in  the  tepee  opening,  her  evil  face  with  its  deep 
scar  thrust  forward  to  look  about. 

"  Skunk ! "  she  shrieked,  as  he  hurried  toward  her,  and 
her  long,  black  teeth  snapped  together;  "a  fire!"  Then 
she  spat  to  cleanse  her  mouth. 

Squaw  Charley  hastened  back  to  the  shingle  roof  for  an 
armful  of  fuel.  Returning,  he  entered  the  wigwam  and 
knelt  beneath  the  smoke-hole.  And  while  he  arranged  the 
sticks  carefully  upon  a  twist  of  grass,  the  aged  crone 
hovered,  hawk-like,  over  him,  ready  with  fist  or  foot  for 
any  lack  of  haste,  or  failure  with  the  fire.  Not  until,  with 
flint  and  steel,  he  lighted  a  strip  of  spongy  wood  and 
thrust  it  under  the  dry  hay,  and  a  flame  leaped  up  and 
caught  the  soot  on  a  hanging  kettle,  did  she  leave  him 
and  go  on  a  quest  for  breakfast  rations. 

The  pariah  had  not  dared  to  lift  his  eyes  from  his  task 
while  the  hag  was  watching.  But  now  he  stole  a  swift 
glance  toward  the  back  of  the  lodge,  where  the  maid, 
Brown  Mink,  was  reclining,  and  his  dull  eyes,  like  the  fuel 


54  The  Plow-Woman 

at  his  knees,  leaped  into  sudden  flame.  But,  with  the  deft- 
ness of  a  woman,  he  kept  on  putting  bits  of  wood  into  the 
mounting  blaze. 

Brown  Mink  did  not  look  his  way.  She  lay  on  a  slanting 
frame  of  saplings  held  together  by  a  network  of  thongs. 
The  gay  blanket  on  which  she  had  ridden  during  the  march 
was  folded  under  her.  A  buffalo-robe  was  spread  over  her 
bead-wrought  leggins  and  shoes,  its  hairy  side  under,  its 
tanned  face,  which  was  gaudily  painted,  uppermost.  Fes- 
toonings  of  beads  fell  from  her  neck  to  the  top  of  her 
richly  embroidered  skirt,  and  heavy  ear-drops  of  gilt 
pushed  through  the  purple-black  masses  of  her  hair. 

Squaw  Charley  fed  his  sight  gladly  with  her  loveliness, 
thankful  that  she,  who  once  had  looked  upon  him  kindly, 
did  not  now  turn  to  see  his  squalor.  The  blaze  was  thaw- 
ing his  chilled  limbs  and  fast  warming  him,  the  brass  pot 
was  singing  merrily.  He  kept  his  hands  gratefully  near 
it,  and  as,  from  time  to  time,  the  girl  held  up  her  arms 
admiringly  to  let  the  firelight  shine  upon  her  bracelets 
and  pinchbeck  rings,  he  watched  her  furtively  from  half- 
closed  eyes. 

But  not  for  long.  Af raid-of-a-Fawn  soon  returned  with 
meat  and  meal  and,  cursing,  ordered  him  away. 

"Off,  Ojibway  coward,"  she  cried;  "to  the  dogs.  But 
see  that  there  is  wood  for  to-night's  cooking  and  to- 
morrow's." 

The  pariah  gave  the  fire  under  the  kettle  a  last  touch, 
and  slunk  out  hastily  into  the  snow.  The  hag  pursued  him, 
moving  backward  and  pulling  after  her  the  partly  dressed 
hide  of  a  black-tailed  deer. 

"  Make  it  ready  for  the  cutting-board,"  she  bade,  and 


The  Despised  55 

threw  the  piece  of  hard  stone  for  the  fleshing  so  that  it 
split  the  pariah's  cheek. 

Squaw  Charley  took  up  the  hide  and  dug  in  the  snow 
for  the  stone. 

A  young  warrior  was  lingering  at  the  lodge  flap,  blow- 
ing spirals  of  kinnikinick.  He  burst  into  a  laugh.  "  Ho ! 
ho ! "  he  taunted.  "  The  squaw  of  a  squaw  drudges  to- 
day. Ho!  ho!" 

The  crone  joined  in  the  laugh.  Then,  "  Standing  Buf- 
falo may  enter,"  she  said,  and  respectfully  led  the  way 
into  the  wigwam. 

The  pariah  heard,  yet  did  not  pause.  But  when,  among 
the  dogs  again,  he  cleaned  at  the  deer  hide  with  short, 
swift  strokes,  a  light  once  more  flamed  up  in  his  dull 
eyes — a  light  unlike  the  one  that  had  burned  in  them  at 
Brown  Mink's  fireside. 

He  was  still  working  diligently,  the  sack  over  his  head 
as  before,  when,  about  the  middle  hour  of  the  day,  Lieu- 
tenant Fraser  entered  the  sliding-panel  of  the  stockade 
and  began  to  go  rapidly  from  lodge  to  lodge,  as  if  in 
search  of  someone.  Seeing  the  intruder,  the  dogs  about 
Squaw  Charley  bounded  up,  hair  bristling  and  teeth  bared. 

The  outcast  laid  aside  his  rubbing-stone  and  strove  to 
quiet  them.  But  the  sudden  commotion  under  the  roof  had 
already  attracted  the  young  officer.  Stooping,  he  caught 
a  glimpse  of  The  Squaw. 

"  Oh,  there  you  are ! "  he  exclaimed,  and  motioned  for 
him  to  come  forth. 

When  the  Indian  appeared,  the  deer-skin  in  his  arms, 
Lieutenant  Fraser  pointed  toward  the  entrance.  "  You 


56  The  Plow-Woman 

come  with  me,"  he  said,  with  a  gesture  in  the  sign  lan- 
guage. 

Squaw  Charley  moved  slowly  along  with  him.  No  one 
was  in  sight  in  the  enclosure — no  one  seemed  even  to  be 
looking  on.  But,  opposite  Brown  Mink's  lodge,  the  old 
woman  dashed  out,  seized  the  hide  with  a  scream  of  rage 
and  dashed  back  again.  The  next  moment,  Charley  passed 
through  the  sliding-panel  and  took  up  his  march  to 
headquarters. 

"  So  this  is  your  last  wild  pet,  eh,  Robert? "  said 
Colonel  Cummings,  as  they  entered.  He  backed  up  to  his 
stove  and  surveyed  Squaw  Charley  good-naturedly.  "  Let 
me  see,  now :  You've  run  the  scale  from  a  devil's  darning- 
needle  to  a  baby  wolf.  Next  thing,  I  suppose,  you'll  be 
introducing  us  to  a  youngish  rattlesnake." 

Lieutenant  Fraser  rumpled  his  hair  sheepishly.  "  But 
you  ought  to  see  the  way  they're  treating  him — banging 
him  around  as  if  he  were  a  dog." 

"  Hm.  He  certainly  doesn't  look  strong." 

"  They  work  him  to  death,  Colonel." 

The  commanding  officer  laughed.  "  A  redskin,  working, 
must  be  a  sight  for  sore  eyes !  " 

"  But  they  don't  feed  him,  sir." 

The  outcast,  wrapped  close  in  his  blanket,  lifted  his 
pinched  face  to  them. 

"  How'd  it  happen  I  didn't  notice  this  fellow  during 
the  march  ?  "  inquired  the  colonel,  a  trifle  suspiciously. 

"  He  was  with  the  squaws  when  there  was  anything  to 
do ;  but  when  we  were  on  the  move,  he  fell  to  the  rear." 

"  Didn't  try  to  get  away?  " 

"No;  just  straggled  along." 


The  Despised  57 

"  Ah.  Do  you  know  whether  or  not  he  took  part  in 
the  fight  the  day  we  captured  them?  " 

At  the  question,  a  swift  change  came  over  Squaw 
Charley.  He  retreated  a  little,  and  bent  his  head  until  his 
chin  rested  upon  his  breast. 

Lieutenant  Fraser  threw  out  his  arm  in  mute  reply.  No 
feathers,  no  paint,  no  gaudy  shirt  or  bonnet  marked  the 
Indian  as  a  warrior. 

The  elder  man  approached  the  silent,  shrinking  figure 
not  unkindly.  "  And  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  for  him, 
Robert?"  he  asked. 

Lieutenant  Fraser  sprang  forward  eagerly,  his  face 
shining.  "  He's  so  quiet  and  willing,  sir — so  ready  to  do 
anything  he's  told.  I'd  be  grateful  if  you  thought  you 
could  trust  him  outside  the  stockade.  He  could  get  the 
odds  and  ends  from  the  bachelor's  mess." 

"  I'll  be  hanged !  Robert,"  cried  his  superior,  annoyed. 
"  Most  men,  just  out  of  West  Point,  have  an  eye  to  killing 
redskins,  not  coddling  'em." 

The  other  crimsoned.  "  I'm  sorry  you  look  at  it  that 
way,  Colonel,"  he  said.  "  I'm  ready  to  punish  or  kill  in 
the  case  of  bad  ones.  But — you'll  pardon  my  saying  it — 
I  don't  see  that  it's  the  duty  of  an  officer  to  harm  a  good 
one." 

Squaw  Charley  raised  his  head,  and  shifted  timidly  from 
foot  to  foot. 

"  Well,  Robert,"  replied  Colonel  Cummings,  quietly, 
"  you  still  have  the  Eastern  view  of  the  Indian  question. 
However,  let  me  ask  you  this:  Has  this  man  a  story,  and 
what  is  it  ?  For  all  you  know,  he  may  deserve  being  '  banged 
around.'  " 


58  The  Plow-Woman 

Lieutenant  Fraser  was  shaking  his  head  in  answer,  when 
swift  came  one  from  the  pariah.  He  searched  in  his  bosom, 
under  the  tattered  waist,  drew  out  the  rag-wound  paper 
and  handed  it  to  the  commanding  officer. 

Very  carefully  the  latter  read  it,  his  interest  growing 
with  every  line.  Finally,  giving  it  over  to  the  lieutenant, 
he  smiled  at  Squaw  Charley. 

"  That  tells  the  tale,"  he  said.  "  I  knew  the  man  that 
wrote  that  when  I  was  with  Sibley  in  Minnesota,  the  sum- 
mer after  the  massacre.  He's  a  man  that  writes  the  truth. 
He  talks  the  truth,  too,  and  I  wish  I  had  him  here,  now, 
so  that  he  could  interpret  for  me." 

"  Why,  sir !  "  exclaimed  the  younger  man,  "  it  says  this 
chap  knows  English !  " 

"  By  all  the  gods !  Of  course  it  does.  Robert,  I'll  make 
him  my  interpreter."  The  colonel  strode  up  and  down 
in  his  excitement,  pausing  only  to  contend  with  the  other 
for  the  paper.  "  Red  Moon,"  he  said  at  last,  motioning 
the  pariah  forward,  "  do  you  know  what  I  am  saying  to 
you?" 

Squaw  Charley  nodded. 

"  Good !  good !  This  is  fortunate.  Now  we  can  have  a 
talk  with  these  Sioux."  He  addressed  the  Indian  again. 
"  And  you  speak  English  ?  "  he  asked. 

There  was  a  second  grave  nod. 

"  You  shall  be  my  interpreter,  Red  Moon.  You  shall 
have  a  log  house  near  the  scouts,  and  the  Great  Father  at 
Washington  will  pay  you.  You  shall  have  double  rations 
for  yourself  and  your  squaw,  and  more,  if  you  have 
papooses.  What  do  you  say  to  that?  " 

Squaw  Charley  had  not  taken  his  eyes  from  the  other's 


The  Despised  59 

face  for  an  instant  while  he  was  talking.  Now,  for  an- 
swer, he  shook  his  head  slowly  and  sadly  from  side  to  side. 

"  Don't  want  to  ?  "  cried  the  colonel. 

"  I'll  tell  you,  sir,"  interposed  Lieutenant  Fraser,  study- 
ing the  paper,  "  I  don't  believe  he  ever  speaks.  You'll 
notice  that  it  says  here :  *  but  lie  has  never.*  I  can't  be 
sure,  but  I  think  the  next  work  is  '  spoken.9 ' 

"  Vow  of  silence?  " 

"  Something  of  the  kind.  Captain  Oliver  has  been  tell- 
ing me  about  these  bucks  that  are  degraded;  and  I  don't 
believe  that,  even  if  this  fellow  spoke,  the  rest  of  the  tribe 
would  treat  with  us  through  him." 

"  That's  probably  true." 

"  They've  made  a  squaw  of  him,  sir." 

Deep  humiliation  instantly  showed  in  the  pariah's  eyes 
and  posture.  He  looked  at  Lieutenant  Fraser  imploringly, 
and  drew  his  blanket  still  more  closely  about  him.  Then, 
as,  with  a  sign,  he  was  bidden  to  put  it  off,  he  suddenly 
let  it  drop  to  the  floor. 

"  Great  Scott ! "  cried  the  colonel.  "  He's  dressed  like 
one!" 

"  His  punishment,  sir.  And  h'e  won't  be  taken  back  as 
a  warrior  till  he  does  some  big  deed." 

"  What  does  that  paper  say  again?  '  Out  of  the  weak- 
ness of  the  flesh  he  wept  under  the  tortures  of  the  sun- 
dance'  So  that's  the  cause  of  his  trouble  I  What  did  they 
do  to  you,  Red  Moon  ?  " 

To  reply,  Squaw  Charley  quickly  divested  himself  of  the 
calico  waist  and  turned  about.  And  Colonel  Cummings, 
uttering  his  horror,  traced  with  tender  finger  the  ragged, 
ghastly  seams  that  lined  the  pariah's  back. 


60  The  Plow-Woman 

"  Muscles  torn  loose,"  he  said.  "  Not  old  wounds, 
either."  As  Squaw  Charley  resumed  waist  and  blanket,  he 
looked  on  pityingly. 

"  I'll  give  him  his  freedom,"  he  said,  when  the  outcast 
stood  ready  to  depart.  "  He  can  come  and  go  in  the  post 
as  he  likes.  Robert,  see  that  the  adjutant  understands  my 
order.  Now,  let  him  get  something  to  eat  in  the  kitchen." 

When  Squaw  Charley's  hunger  had  disappeared  before 
the  enforced,  and  rather  nervous,  generosity  of  Colonel 
Cummin gs'  black  cook,  and  Lieutenant  Fraser  had  left 
him,  he  hurried  away  from  headquarters.  Making  his  way 
to  the  sentry  line  north  of  Brannon,  he  gathered  firewood 
along  the  Missouri  until  dark. 

The  lantern  had  been  out  for  an  hour  in  the  cottonwood 
shack.  Father  and  daughters  were  asleep.  But,  at  the  end 
of  that  time,  Dallas  was  suddenly  awakened  by  the  sound 
of  loud  stamping  and  rending  in  the  lean-to.  Ben  and 
Betty,  roused  by  the  fear  of  something,  were  plunging  and 
pulling  back  on  their  halter-ropes.  Startled,  her  heart 
beating  wildly,  the  elder  girl  crept  softly  to  the  warped 
door. 

Her  father  and  sister  still  slept,  undisturbed  by  the 
noise  in  the  stable,  which  now  quieted  as  abruptly  as  it  had 
begun.  Dallas  heard  the  team  begin  to  feed  again.  And 
from  outside  the  shack  there  came  only  a  faint  rustle. 
Was  it  the  uncovered  meadow-grass  of  the  eaves  as  the 
wind  brushed  gently  through  it?  Or  the  whisper  of  moc- 
casins on  snow? 

Later,  when  The  Squaw  entered  the  sliding  panel  of  the 
stockade,  he  crept  noiselessly  toward  the  shingle  roof.  But 


The  Despised  61 

he  was  not  to  gain  it  unseen.  Afraid-of-a-Fawn,  who  had 
been  looking  about  for  him,  hailed  him  savagely  as  he 
neared. 

"  Wood  for  the  morning  fire,"  she  demanded. 

By  the  light  streaming  out  of  a  near-by  lodge  she  saw 
that  Squaw  Charley  was  looking  at  her  defiantly.  She  set 
upon  him,  cursing  and  kicking,  and  drove  him  before  her 
to  the  shelter. 

"  The  pig !  "  she  cried.  "  Running  free  since  the  sun  was 
at  the  centre  of  the  sky,  and  yet  not  a  stick !  May  a  thou- 
sand devils  take  the  coward !  He  quakes  like  an  aspen ! " 

Squaw  Charley  was  indeed  trembling,  but  only  with  the 
cold,  and  soon,  under  the  shingle  roof,  the  snuggling  dogs 
would  warm  him.  Blows  and  abuse  counted  nothing  this 
night.  He  was  fed;  freedom  was  his;  and  he  had  paid  a 
debt  of  gratitude. 


CHAPTER    VI 
FROM    DODGE    CITY 

DAD,  what's  the  day  after  to-morrow  ?  " 
Evan   Lancaster   pursed   out   his   mouth   and 
thoughtfully   contemplated  his   elder  daughter. 
"  Ah  c'd  figger  it  out,"  he  declared  after  a  puz- 
zled silence,  "  ef  Ah  had  th'  almanac."  He  hunted  about, 
found  the  pamphlet  and  began  to  study  the  December  page. 
"  Trouble  is,"  he  said  at  last,  "  Ah  don'  know  no  day  t' 
figger  fr'm — Ah  los'  track  'way  back  yonder  at  th'  fore 
part  o'  th'  month.   'Sides,  Ah  kain't  say  whether  this  is 
Tuesday  er  Wednesday  er  Thursday.  Mar'lyn,  d'  you  re- 
member w'at  day  o'  th'  week  it  is?  " 

Marylyn  left  the  farther  window  and  walked  slowly  for- 
ward. As  she  halted  beside  her  sister,  the  latter  put  an 
arm  about  her  tenderly  and  drew  her  close.  A  change  had 
recently  come  over  the  younger  girl — a  change  that  Dallas 
had  not  failed  to  see,  yet  had  utterly  failed  to  understand. 
Marylyn  still  performed  her  few  tasks  about  the  house, 
but  with  absent-minded  carelessness.  Her  work  done,  she 
took  up  the  long-neglected  vigil  at  the  windows,  spending 
many  quiet,  and  seemingly  purposeless,  hours  there — all 
unmindful  that  the  beaded  belt  lay  dusty  and  unfinished 
on  a  shelf.  Only  by  fits  and  starts  was  the  shack  enlivened 
by  her  happy  chatter.  At  all  other  times,  she  was  wistful 
and  distrait.  Now,  as  she  answered  her  father,  a  faltering 
light  crept  into  her  eyes. 

62 


From  Dodge  City  63 

"  The  last  time  Mr.  Lounsbury  was  here,"  she  said,  hesi- 
tatingly, "  it  was  the  6th,  and  to-day  is " 

"  Ah  c'n  git  it,"  the  section-boss  interrupted.  After  a 
moment's  tallying  on  his  fingers,  he  sat  back  and  clapped 
his  knees  in  excitement.  "  W'y,  Dallas ! "  he  cried, 
"  th'  day  after  t'-morrow  's  the  end  o'  thet  man's  six 
months ! " 

Dallas  released  Marylyn.  "  Yes,"  she  said,  watching  the 
younger  girl  wander  back  mechanically  to  the  post  she  had 
forsaken ;  "  and  to-morrow  you  ought  to  start  for  Bis- 
marck. Maybe  it  wouldn't  matter  if  you  waited  a  while 
before  going;  but  as  long  as  the  weather's  good,  I  think 
you  ought  to  go  right  off." 

"  Ah  reckon,"  he  replied,  but  not  heartily. 

And  so,  once  more  preparations  for  a  trip  were  made. 
That  night,  when  all  was  ready,  and  Dallas  and  her  father, 
having  given  the  team  a  late  feed,  were  leaving  the  stable 
together,  she  spoke  to  him  of  her  sister. 

"  There's  just  one  thing  that  worries  me  about  your 
leaving,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  know  if  you've  noticed  it  or 
not,  but  Marylyn  don't  seem  to  be  feeling  good." 

"  Y'  think  mebbe  she  takes  after  her  ma?  "  ventured  the 
section-boss. 

Dallas  nodded. 

"  No,  no,"  he  said,  "  she  favours  me,  an'  they's  no  need 
t'  fret.  They's  nothin'  th'  matter  with  her — jus'  off  her 
oats  a  leetle,  thet's  all." 

The  developments  of  the  next  morning  swept  every 
thought  from  Dallas'  mind  save  those  concerning  the 
journey.  For,  when  it  came  time  to  harness  the  mules,  she 
found  that  Ben  had  unaccountably  gone  lame.  Whether 


64  The  Plow-Woman 

his  mate  had  kicked  him,  or  whether  he  had  sprained  a 
leg  while  exercising  the  previous  afternoon,  she  did  not 
know.  But  it  was  plain  that,  as  far  as  he  went,  the  miles 
between  quarter-section  and  land-office  were  impossible. 
At  once,  Dallas  suggested  that  Betty  be  driven  single 
to  a  small  pung  that  had  been  built  for  water-hauling  when 
the  well  froze  up.  Accordingly,  the  mule  was  put  before 
the  sleigh.  Failure  resulted.  Though  both  Dallas  and  her 
father  alternately  coaxed  and  scolded,  Betty,  with  charac- 
teristic stubbornness,  refused  to  budge  .a  rod  from  the 
lean-to  without  Ben. 

Dallas  was  in  despair.  "  She  won't  go,  she  won't  go," 
she  said.  "  We've  got  to  think  of  some  other  way." 

"  Yestiddy,"  observed  the  section-boss,  as  he  unfastened 
the  tugs,  "  y'  said  it  wouldn'  matter  ef  Ah  didn'  go  now." 
He  was  somewhat  complacent  over  the  outcome  of  the 
hitch-up. 

"  I  don't  feel  that  way  now,"  asserted  Dallas. 

"  Thet  ol'  man  up  at  th'  leetle  ben'  has  hosses,"  he  vol- 
unteered when  they  were  again  within  the  shack. 

"  He  took  'em  to  Clark's  two  months  ago,  and  walked 
back." 

"  Wai,  how  'bout  th'  Norwegian  over  by  th'  Mountain  ?  " 

"  He  keeps  oxen.  If  a  blizzard  came  up,  they'd  never 
lead  you  out  of  it."  Then  she  was  moved  to  make  a  sug- 
gestion which  she  felt  certain,  however,  would  only  be 
denounced.  "  There  are  hundreds  of  horses  and  mules  at 
Brannon.  I  could  ask  there  for  a  team." 

Instantly  Lancaster's  ire  was  roused.  "  Thet's  all  Ah 
want  t'  hear  fr'm  you  'bout  them  damned  Yankees,"  he 
said  hotly.  "  An'  Ah  want  y'  t'  remember  it." 


From  Dodge  City  65 

"  But  you're  wrong,  dad." 

"  Eh?  "  He  turned  upon  her  in  amazed  disgust. 

"  You're  wrong,"  she  repeated  gently.  "  We  ought  n't 
to  treat  the  soldiers  as  if  they  was  enemies.  Some  day  we'll 
be  in  danger  here " 

"Bosh!" 

"  And  then  we'll  have  to  take  their  help." 

He  began  to  hobble  up  and  down,  working  himself  into 
a  white  heat.  "  'S  long  as  Ah  live  on  this  claim,"  he  said, 
"  Ah'll  never  go  t'  Brannon  fer  anythin',  an'  they'll  be  no 
trottin'  back  an'  forth.  Thet  ornery  trash  over  thar  is  th' 
same,  most  of  it,  theh  fought  th'  South,  jus'  a  few  years 
ago.  Ah  kain't  forget  thet.  An'  not  one  of  'em  '11  ever  set 
a  foot  in  this  house." 

After  more  hobbling,  he  burst  forth  again.  "  Ah  tell 
y',  Dallas,  Ah  won't  hev9  you  gals  meetin'  them  no-'count 
soldiers " 

She  smiled  at  him.  "We  don't  want  to  meet  any  sol- 
diers," she  answered.  "  But  there  are  women  at  the  Fort — 
women  like  mother.  It  seems  a  shame  we  can't  know 
them." 

"  Y'  mother  raised  y'  t'  be  's  fine  a  lady  as  any  of  'em 
over  thar ! " 

"Maybe  that's  true.  If  it  is,  then  they'd  like  us, 
wouldn't  they?  and  we  could  have  friends.  I'm  not  think- 
ing about  myself — just  about  Marylyn." 

"  You  gals  got  each  other.  Meetin'  th'  women  at  Bran- 
non means  meetin'  th'  men.  An9  Ah  won't  hev  it!  "  His 
voice  rose  almost  to  a  shout. 

"  I'll  never  speak  to  you  about  it  again,"  she  said.  And 
her  quiet  acceptance  mollified  him. 


66  The  Plow-Woman 

"  M'  gal,  y'  kain't  think  how  Ah  feel  about  them 
Yanks,"  he  went  on  tremulously.  "  An'  Ah  want  y'  t' 
promise  me  thet  whether  Ah  'm  'live  er  dead,  y'  '11  allus 
keep  on  you'  own  side  of  th'  river." 

She  glanced  up  at  him  quickly.  "  Do  you  mean  that, 
daddy  ?  "  she  asked,  using  the  name  he  had  borne  in  her 
babyhood. 

"Ah  do!  Ah  do!" 

"  Then  I  promise."  Her  tone  was  sorrowful. 

"Mar'lyn?" 

The  younger  girl  faced  about  slowly. 

"  D'  you  promise  ?  " 

"  Promise?  "   she  repeated.  "  Yes,— I — I  promise." 

Dallas  knew  that  the  trip  to  the  land-office  was  impos- 
sible unless  Lounsbury  should  chance  along — which  was 
unlikely,  some  weeks  having  passed  since  his  last  visit. 
Undoubtedly  were  he  to  come,  he  would  help  them.  But 
would  her  father  allow  her  to  ask  the  storekeeper's  aid? 
Probably  not. 

"I'll  tell  Charley  about  it  to-night,"  she  said  finally. 
"  We  just  got  to  find  a  way." 

"  What  c'n  he  do?  "  retorted  her  father.  "  Far  's  him  's 
gitting  a  team  's  concerned,  we-all  might  's  well  look  fer 
someone  t'  come  right  outen  th'  sky." 

Her  determination  to  ask  advice  of  the  pariah  was  a 
natural  one.  The  morning  that  succeeded  the  night  of  the 
mules'  terror,  she  had  awakened  to  find  a  reassuring  ex- 
planation for  their  fear:  In  the  growing  light,  as  the 
trumpet  sounded  reveille  from  the  fort,  she  sprang  up  and 
looked  out  expectantly.  On  the  top  of  a  drift  in  front  of 
the  door  was  a  bundle  of  sticks !  A  hard  crust  had  formed 


From  Dodge  City  67 

during  the  night ;  and  moccasin  tracks,  leading  up  to  the 
wood,  and  then  pointing  away  again,  were  cast  in  it  with 
frozen  clearness. 

"  That  poor  Indian !  "  she  had  exclaimed,  in  grateful 
relief. 

Not  once  after  his  summoning  before  Colonel  Cum- 
mings  had  The  Squaw  forgotten  daily  to  leave  firewood  at 
the  shack.  The  evening  of  his  second  trip  across  the  Mis- 
souri, Dallas  had  lain  in  wait  for  him,  secreted  under  the 
dismantled  schooner,  which  she  had  drawn  into  place  be- 
side the  door.  And  as,  bringing  his  offering,  he  crossed  the 
snow  softly  and  approached,  the  terrified  mules  again  an- 
nounced his  coming,  and  she  hailed  him. 

"  Come  on,  come  near,"  she  had  called ;  "  I  want  to  see 
you." 

Eager  to  prove  his  good  intent,  he  had  hastened  for- 
ward; and  she,  just  as  eager  to  show  her  thankfulness,  had 
led  him  into  the  house.  There,  with  the  distrustful  eye  of 
the  section-boss  upon  him,  and  with  Marylyn  watching  in 
trepidation  from  a  distance,  he  had  eaten  and  drunk  at 
Dallas'  bidding. 

At  the  very  moment  when  Dallas  decided  to  confide  in 
him,  Squaw  Charley  was  not  unmindful  of  her.  Where  the 
river-bluffs  back  of  Brannon  shoved  their  dark  shoulders 
through  the  snow,  the  wind  having  swept  their  tops  clean 
of  the  last  downfall,  he  was  working  away  like  a  muskrat. 
To  and  fro,  he  went,  searching  diligently  for  buffalo- 
chips.  A  sack  followed  him  on  a  rope  tied  to  his  leather 
belt,  so  that  he  could  beat  his  hands  against  his  breast  as 
he  covered  every  square  rod  of  dead,  curly  grass  on  the 
uplands.  The  bag  crammed  to  the  top,  he  took  off  his 


68  The  Plow-Woman 

blanket  and,  despite  the  cold,  began  to  fill  it  also.  For  he 
knew,  and  fully  as  well  as  they  who  watched  the  thermom- 
eter hanging  just  outside  the  entrance  at  headquarters, 
that  the  night  would  require  much  fuel. 

As  he  hunted  along  the  bare  ridge,  something  more  than 
the  frigid  gusts  that  whipped  the  skirt  about  his  lean 
shanks  urged  him  to  finish  his  gathering  and  go  riverward. 
In  the  little  snug  cabin  out  on  the  prairie  a  cheery  wel- 
come awaited  him;  before  the  glowing  coals  in  the  stone 
fireplace  he  could  warm  his  shaking  legs ;  there  was  good 
food  for  his  empty  stomach.  But,  better  than  all  else, 
there  a  kindly  face  always  smiled  a  greeting. 

The  blanket  piled  so  high  with  chips  that  its  weight  bal- 
anced the  grain-sack,  he  prepared  to  start  riverward.  But 
first,  prompted  by  an  old  habit,  he  climbed  to  a  high  point 
of  bluff  near  by,  and,  standing  where  lookouts  had  main- 
tained a  post  before  severe  weather  compelled  their  with- 
drawal, carefully  scanned  the  white  horizon.  To  the  west, 
from  where — the  band  in  the  stockade  boasted — warriors 
of  their  tribe  would  come  in  the  spring  to  make  a  rescue; 
to  the  north,  on  either  side  of  the  ice-bound  Missouri ;  to 
the  east,  in  the  wide  gap  between  the  distant  ranges  of 
hills,  he  saw  no  creature  moving.  But  facing  southward, 
his  hands  shading  his  eyes  carefully  from  the  glare,  he 
spied,  on  the  eastern  bank,  and  at  not  a  great  distance,  the 
approach  of  a  familiar  milk-white  horse,  drawing  a  heavy 
pung. 

The  stooping  pariah  was  transformed  by  the  sight.  He 
threw  up  his  arms  with  an  inarticulate  cry,  and  sprang 
away  down  the  slope  to  his  sack  and  blanket.  Seizing  them, 
he  made  for  the  level  ground  north  of  the  barracks,  de- 


From  Dodge  City  69 

scended  to  the  ice,  swiftly  crossed  and  dragged  the  fuel  up 
to  the  cottonwool's.  Then  he  started  down  the  river,  taking 
long  leaps. 

The  upper  part  of  the  improvised  sleigh  that  was  tilting 
its  way  across  the  drifts  like  a  skiff  on  angry  water,  was 
the  green  box  of  an  ordinary  farm-wagon,  set  on  runners. 
The  wheels  of  the  vehicle  lay  on  some  hay  in  the  rear  of  the 
box.  On  the  broad  wooden  seat  was  a  man,  facing  rear- 
ward to  get  the  wind  at  his  back.  He  was  almost  concealed 
by  quilts,  his  arms  being  wrapped  close  to  his  body,  and 
the  milk-white  horse  was  taking  his  leisurely  way  unguided. 
Above  the  man,  and  nailed  so  loosely  to  the  wagon-seat  that 
it  wavered  a  little  from  side  to  side  and  kept  up  a  squeak- 
ing, was  a  tall  board  cross,  rude  and  unpainted. 

When  he  came  close  to  the  sleigh,  Squaw  Charley  caught 
the  sound  of  singing,  and  stopped.  The  traveller  was  com- 
forting his  lonely  way  with  a  sacred  hymn,  the  words  of 
which,  scattered  by  the  wind,  reached  the  Indian  in  broken, 
but  martial,  phrases. 

"  Onward,    Christian    soldiers, 
Marching     .     .     .     war, 
.     the  cross  of  Jesus 
on  before." 

Again  Squaw  Charley  spurred  himself  into  long  leaps. 
And  behind  Shanty  Town,  on  the  open  prairie,  he  brought 
the  horse  to  a  halt. 

Once  more  he  gave  his  wordless  cry — a  cry  like  the  shrill 
hail  of  a  mute.  It  brought  the  man  face  about.  Another 
second,  answering,  he  stood  up,  shook  off  the  quilts  to  free 


70  The  Plow- Woman 

his  arms,  reached  down  and  caught  the  pariah  to  his 
breast. 

Tall  and  spare,  he  was,  and  aged;  over  his  shoulders 
flowed  long,  white  hair ;  a  beard  as  white  fell  to  his  waist ; 
his  sharp  eyes  were  shaded  by  heavy  brows ;  he  wore  a  coat 
of  coarse  cloth  that  touched  his  feet,  and  about  his  head 
was  wound  a  nubia ;  as,  with  face  upraised,  he  embraced 
the  Indian,  he  was  a  stately,  venerable  figure. 

"  God  be  praised !  "  he  said  over  and  over.  Then  he  held 
Squaw  Charley  away  from  him  a  moment  to  look  him  up 
and  down.  "  I  feared  some  harm  had  come  to  you — that 
your  people  had  behaved  so  cruelly  to  you  that  you  had 
died.  But  you  are  well.  Yet  how  thin!  Ah!  I  am  so  glad 
to  see  you  once  more !  " 

He  held  him  close  again,  murmuring  a  blessing.  When 
he  released  him,  it  was  to  make  room  for  him  on  the  seat, 
and  wrap  him  up  in  a  thick,  soft  quilt.  All  the  while  the 
benevolent  old  face  was  shining  with  happiness,  and  tears 
were  streaming  down  the  wrinkled  cheeks. 

Squaw  Charley,  too,  was  overcome.  His  black  eyes  were 
no  longer  sad  and  lowered.  They  glowed  softly,  almost 
adoringly,  as  he  watched  his  friend. 

"  David  Bond  had  not  forgotten  you,  Charles,"  the  old 
man  said,  as  he  clucked  to  the  white  horse.  "  I  was  at 
Dodge  City — that  wickedest  town  of  the  plains — when 
news  came  of  the  capture  of  your  village.  At  once  I 
started,  for  I  knew  that  my  duty  lay  here,  here  with  your 
poor  people,  who  will  not  realise  how  foolish  and  puny  is 
their  warfare.  I  did  not  come  alone,"  he  added,  casting  a 
look  behind ;  "  a  white  man  accompanied  me — a  man  so 
full  of  evil  and  blasphemy  that  I  quake  for  the  safety  of 


From  Dodge  City  71 

his  miserable  soul.  He  has  walked  most  of  the  distance, 
for  he  is  warmer  walking,  and  there  are  scarce  enough 
quilts  for  two." 

They  looked  back.  A  mile  to  the  rear,  trailed  a  solitary 
man. 

Squaw  Charley  made  a  quick,  questioning  sign. 

"  His  name  is  Matthews,"  replied  David  Bond ;  "  and 
his  mission,  I  fear,  is  a  bad  one.  All  the  way  he  has  urged 
my  poor  Shadrach  on  and  on,  so  that  we  have  hardly  had 
time  to  rest  and  eat.  And  all  the  day,  as  he  rides  or  tramps, 
he  mutters  to  himself.  When  I  ask  him  what  he  is  saying, 
he  replies,  '  You'll  find  out  quick  enough ! '  and  curses 
more  vilely  than  before." 

The  pung  was  now  opposite  the  stockade.  Look- 
ing across  the  river,  David  Bond  got  his  first  view  of 
the  high-walled  prison  with  its  ever-moving  and  wary 
guards. 

He  pulled  up  his  horse.  "  Alas  I "  he  exclaimed  mourn- 
fully, "  how  misguided  they  are — white  and  red  men 
alike!" 

The  pung  slid  on  until  the  cut  in  the  riverbank  was 
reached.  Again  the  old  man  reined.  "  I  cannot  cross  the 
river  while  the  ice  is  so  smooth.  Shadrach  could  not  keep 
his  feet.  And  I  will  not  leave  him  behind.  But  where  can  I 
stop  on  this  side?  " 

Glancing  to  the  left,  he  saw  the  line  of  saloons.  "  There, 
Charles,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  drive  there  and  ask  for 
shelter." 

He  turned  the  white  horse  into  the  cut.  As  they  ap- 
proached the  shanties,  a  woman's  voice  was  heard,  raised 
in  ribald  song. 


72  The  Plow-Woman 

"  God  sends  David  Bond  whither  he  is  most  needed," 
the  old  man  murmured  fervently. 

A  shingle  sign  was  nailed  over  the  door  of  the  first 
building.  On  it,  in  bold,  uneven  letters,  were  the  words : 
The  Trooper's  Delight.  David  Bond  climbed  down  and 
knocked. 

There  was  a  moment  of  dead  silence  within ;  then,  sounds 
as  if  several  persons  were  moving  about  on  tiptoe ;  again, 
silence.  The  old  man  knocked  louder.  After  a  short  wait, 
the  door  was  thrown  wide.  A  thick-set  man,  whose  eyes 
squinted  at  cross  purposes  over  his  flat,  turned-up  nose, 
filled  the  entrance. 

"  What  in  the  devil  do  you  want  ? "  he  demanded 
roughly,  when  he  saw  David  Bond.  But  his  seeming  anger 
illy  concealed  his  relief  that  it  was  not  an  officered  guard, 
searching  for  recreant  soldiers. 

"  I  wish  for  nothing  in  the  name  of  the  devil,"  was  the 
simple  answer.  "  But  in  the  name  of  God,  I  ask  for  a 
roof." 

"  That  buck  with  you?  "  The  squint-eyed  man  shut  the 
door  behind  him  as  he  pointed  at  Squaw  Charley. 

"  No ;  he  lives  in  the  stockade  yonder." 

"  Oh !  He's  the  one  that  goes  prowlin'  'round  here  day 
an'  night,  sneakin'  an'  stealin' !  " 

"  He  may  prowl,"  said  David  Bond,  stoutly,  "  but  he 
does  not  steal.  He  is  a  good,  honest  Indian." 

The  keeper  of  The  Trooper's  Delight  laughed  immod- 
erately. "  Get  out !  Who  ever  heerd  tell  of  a'  honest  In- 
jun? Say!  " — tauntingly — "  where'd  you  an'  your  broom- 
tail  come  from,  anyhow  ?  " 

"  From  Dodge  City." 


From  Dodge  City  73 

"  Dodge  City !  "  the  man  cried.  "  Then  maybe  you  seen 
my  brother  there,  or  heerd  if  he's  comin'.  Nick  Matthews 
is  his  name " 

David  Bond  lifted  one  hand  and  opened  his  mouth  to 
answer.  But  the  words  stopped  at  his  lips.  For,  from  the 
top  of  the  high  bank  behind  the  line  of  shanties,  there 
came  a  shout.  Looking  up,  the  squint-eyed  man,  David 
Bond,  and  The  Squaw  saw  a  face  peering  down  upon 
them. 

"  Hello !  "  came  the  voice  again.  "  Hello,  Babe !  Hello, 
gran'pa!  you  beat  me  here,  didn't  y'?  Look  out!  I'm 
a-comin' ! " 

And  amid  a  little  avalanche  of  snow,  icicles,  dirt  and 
stones  that  frightened  the  milk-white  horse  so  that  he  all 
but  overturned  the  pung,  Nick  Matthews  tobogganed 
down  the  bank  on  his  overcoat  and  landed  beside  them  on 
the  shelf. 

"  Short  cut,"  he  said,  as  he  got  up  and  shook  out  the 
coat.  "Well,  Babe,  old  socks,  how's  things  goin'?  How" 
— he  threw  his  thumb  back  over  his  shoulder  toward  the 
east — "how  'bout  over  there?  What  news  y'  got?" 

Squaw  Charley  followed  the  direction  of  the  pointing. 

"  You  ain't  come  a  minnit  too  soon,"  declared  Babe. 
"  Only  just  a  day  or  two  left  of  your  six  months,  an' 

they "  The  two  moved  toward  the  shanty,  whispering 

together. 

David  Bond  called  to  the  brothers  appealingly.  "  May 
I  put  up  here?  "  he  asked.  "  Have  you  a  vacant  building 
that  I  may  share  with  Shadrach?  I  have  hay  and  food  of 
my  own." 

Nick  Matthews   came  back.  He  had   a  putty-coloured 


74  The  Plow-Woman 

face  upon  which  his  blonde  eyebrows  failed  to  show ;  but 
he  summoned  a  look  that  was  as  near  to  a  scowl  as  pos- 
sible. "  Look  a-here,  gran'pa,"  he  said,  "  d'  you  think  I'm 
goin'  t'  let  you  sponge  offen  my  frien's?  Not  by  a  long 
shot!  Hain't  I  come  all  the  way  fr'm  Dodge  City  t'  keep 
th'  redskins  fr'm  takin'  your  scalp?  What  more  d'  y' 
want?  "  He  gave  a  laugh  in  which  there  was  no  humour, 
disclosing  small  teeth,  ranged  close,  and  like  the  first  set  of 
a  child's. 

David  Bond  did  not  quail.  "  You  have  accepted  my  hos- 
pitality for  a  month,"  he  said.  "  I  ask  nothing  that  is  not 
justly  mine." 

Matthews  snapped  his  fingers  derisively.  "  We  can't 
have  you  here  t'  snoop  an'  spy,"  he  declared.  "  Git !  "  As 
he  turned  to  enter  the  shanty,  he  came  face  to  face  with 
the  Indian.  "  What's  this?  "  Then,  noting  the  squaw  skirt, 
"  Gran'pa,  who's  your  lady  f  rien'  ?  " 

Hate  flashed  across  the  pariah's  face,  like  forked  light- 
ning on  a  dark  sky. 

"  One  of  Sitting  Bull's  warriors,"  answered  David 
Bond ;  "  and  a  good  man." 

"  Uncapapa,  eh? "  said  Matthews.  "  I  savvy  their 
lingo."  He  plucked  at  Squaw  Charley's  dress.  "  Our  war- 
rior wears  fine  garments,"  he  jeered,  speaking  in  the  In- 
dian tongue.  Then,  with  another  laugh,  he  followed  his 
brother  into  the  shanty  and  banged  the  door. 

David  Bond  took  his  horse's  bridle.  "  We  must  find  hos- 
pitality elsewhere,  Shadrach,"  he  said  resignedly.  And  he 
headed  the  pung  up  the  river.  As  he  got  back  into  the 
wagon-box,  he  looked  round  for  Squaw  Charley. 

The  pariah  was  standing  close  to  the  shanty,  his  head 


From  Dodge  City  75 

held  forward,  as  if  he  were  watching  to  spring,  his  hands 
opening  and  clenching  angrily. 

"  Charles !  "  pleaded  the  old  man,  reproachfully.  "  Re- 
member— do  good  to  them  that  wish  you  evil,  and  love  them 
that  hate." 

The  Indian  dropped  his  arm  meekly  and  shuffled  over  to 
the  pung.  But  when  David  Bond  again  drew  him  on  to  the 
seat,  his  lips  moved  silently,  and  until  the  cut  was  reached 
and  Shadrach  pulled  them  out  upon  the  prairie  once  more, 
he  continued  to  glower  back  at  the  line  of  saloons. 

"  It  will  be  a  terrible  night,"  the  other  said,  as  they 
came  to  a  standstill  beside  the  cottonwoods.  "  It  is  get- 
ting late.  I  suppose  I  must  try  to  cross  the  river." 

The  pariah  was  recalled  from  his  backward  glances. 
Rising,  he  extended  an  arm  to  direct  David  Bond's  at- 
tention. And  the  old  man,  rising  also,  made  out  the  squat 
shack  of  the  Lancasters,  almost  hidden  from  sight  by 
drifts.  With  a  fervent  prayer  of  thanksgiving,  he  touched 
up  Shadrach  and  steered  him  toward  it,  pausing  only  long 
enough  for  the  Indian  to  load  the  chip-sack  and  the  filled 
blanket  on  top  of  the  wheels  and  hay. 

"  If  this  lonely  house  will  give  me  shelter  and  welcome," 
vowed  David  Bond,  urging  his  horse  on,  "  it  will  find  me 
grateful." 

Squaw  Charley  made  no  answering  sign.  Bundled  again 
in  the  soft  quilt,  he  sat  in  the  wagon-box,  brooding.  For 
he  had  divined,  with  the  instinct  of  the  savage,  that  if  the 
shack  on  the  rise  before  them  would  find  a  faithful 
friend  in  him  who  sat  beneath  the  wavering  cross,  it  was 
threatened  by  the  presence  of  a  dangerous  foe — the  man 
just  come  to  the  shanty  saloon  by  the  river. 


CHAPTER    VII 
OUT    OF    THE    SKY 

WHEN  four  distinct  raps — Squaw  Charley's 
familiar  signal — sounded  upon  the  outer 
battens  of  the  warped  door,  Dallas  drew 
back  the  iron  bolt  eagerly,  caught  the  lan- 
tern that  lighted  the  dim  room  from  its  high  nail  above  the 
hearth,  and  held  it  over  her  head.  Then,  standing  in  the 
opening,  with  the  icy  wind  fluttering  the  wide  flame  till 
it  leaped  and  smoked  in  its  socket,  she  met,  not  the  falter- 
ing eyes  of  the  faithful  Indian,  but  the  piercing  gaze  of 
aged  David  Bond. 

She  fell  back  and  let  the  lantern  drop  to  her  waist. 
There  she  held  it,  her  fingers  trembling  despite  her  effort 
to  appear  calm.  Many  days  and  nights  she  had  waited  ex- 
pectantly for  the  man  who,  by  voice  and  fist,  had  displayed 
an  enmity  toward  them;  she  had  pictured  his  arrival,  or 
that  of  his  emissary,  and  planned  what  she  would  say  and 
do.  Now,  certain  that  he  was  come  at  last — after  she  had 
long  ceased  to  watch  for  him — and  reading  justice  and 
fearlessness  in  the  stern  visage  before  her,  she  was  dumb 
and  helpless. 

Her  father's  voice,  rising  from  the  hearth-side,  brought 
her  to  action.  "  Wai !  wal ! "  he  was  saying,  "  don'  keep 
th'  door  open  all  night." 

With  a  defiant  step  forward,  and  as  if  to  bar  intrusion, 

76 


Out  of  the  Sky  77 

she  spread  out  her  arms.  "  You're  here,"  she  said  in  a  low 
tone. 

Dallas'  words  did  not  penetrate  the  head-covering  worn 
by  David  Bond ;  and  the  fire  having  died  down  for  lack  of 
fuel,  the  interior  of  the  shack  was  so  dark  that  he  could 
see  only  her  gesture.  He  thought  her  alone  and  frightened. 

"  Have  no  fear,  daughter,"  he  begged.  "  I  will  go 
somewhere  else.  But  the  ice  is  so 

His  gentle  address  surprised  and  disarmed  her.  She  ad- 
vanced relentingly  as  her  father  came  up  behind. 

"  W'y — a  stranger?"  cried  the  section-boss. 

She  stopped  him.  "  Yes,  but  we  wouldn't  turn  a  dog 
away  to-night,  dad."  She  motioned  David  Bond  to 
enter. 

As  he  crossed  the  sill,  Dallas,  for  the  first  time,  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  white  horse  and  the  pung,  and  saw  Squaw 
Charley  lifting  his  load  of  chips  from  the  wagon-box. 

"  You  came  together  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Charley  pointed  out  your  house  to  me,"  was  the 
answer. 

A  sudden  hope  came  to  her.  "  Maybe  I  made  a  mistake," 
she  said.  "  Tell  me,  who  are  you  ?  " 

"  David  Bond — an  evangelist  by  the  grace  of  God." 

She  lifted  the  lantern  so  that  he  could  see  the  others. 
"  My  father  and  my  sister,"  she  said.  Then  she  put  the 
light  on  the  table,  retired  to  a  corner  and  suddenly  sank 
down. 

Squaw  Charley,  having  brought  in  and  emptied  the 
sack  and  blanket,  fed  the  blaze  and  crouched  at  one  side 
of  the  fireplace.  Evan  and  Marylyn  were  across  from  him, 
intently  examining  the  features  and  dress  of  the  traveller. 


78  The  Plow-Woman 

It  was  Dallas  who,  eased,  yet  shaken,  remembered  to  be 
hospitable. 

"  Come,  Charley,"  she  said,  rising,  "  we'll  put  the 
horse  up.  No,  no,"  as  their  guest  would  have  accompanied 
her,  "  we  won't  need  help.  The  mules  are  used  to  Charley, 
now,  and  Simon's  pretty  ugly  to  strangers."  She  started 
out.  "  Marylyn,"  she  said,  from  the  door,  "  you  take  Mr. 
Bond's  coat."  Then,  to  the  evangelist,  "  I'm  glad  it's  you, 
and  not — somebody — else."  A  rare  smile  crossed  her  face. 

The  aged  man,  divested  of  his  long  ulster,  advanced 
and,  with  fatherly  tenderness,  lightly  touched  her  braids. 

"  '  I  was  a  stranger,  and  ye  took  me  in,'  "  he  quoted 
solemnly. 

Dallas  lingered  a  moment,  arrested  by  the  picture :  Lan- 
caster was  leaning  forward  from  his  seat  in  unaccustomed 
silence;  Marylyn  sat  beside  him,  the  nubia  thrown  across 
her  arm;  nearer  was  the  Indian,  his  copper-coloured  face 
marvellously  softened;  and,  before  them  all,  stood  the 
evangelist,  priestly,  patriarchal. 

When  Dallas  and  Squaw  Charley  were  gone,  the  sec- 
tion-boss and  his  younger  daughter  were,  for  a  space, 
tongue-tied  through  a  lack  of  something  to  say.  Soon, 
however,  David  Bond  broke  the  quiet  to  assure  Lancaster  of 
his  gratitude.  And  thereafter  the  two  men  talked  freely. 

"  You  need  not  fear  any  trouble  with  my  horse,"  the 
evangelist  said,  as  Dallas  was  heard  bidding  Simon  keep 
to  his  side  of  the  stall.  "  Shadrach  is  a  gentle  beast." 

At  the  name,  the  section-boss  cocked  his  head  like  an 
inquiring  bird.  "  M-m,  Shadrach,"  he  began  in  important 
reflection ;  "  y'  call  y'  hoss  Shadrach.  Ah  seem  t'  hev  heerd 
thet  name  before." 


Out  of  the  Sky  79 

Marylyn  raised  to  her  father  a  quick,  warning  finger. 
"  It's  in  the  Bible,  pa,"  she  whispered. 

"Heh?" 

"  It's  in  the  Bible." 

"  Don'  y '  think  Ah  know  ?  "  Evan  poked  the  fire  cheer- 
fully. He  was  fairly  started  in  a  conversation.  "  Thet 
Shadrach  was  a  prophet,  ef  Ah  recall  it  jes'  right,"  he  said 
tentatively. 

The  evangelist  shot  him  a  sorrowful  glance. 

"  No,  pa,"  whispered  Marylyn  again.  "  He  was  put  in 
a  furnace.  Remember  the  furnace,  pa?  " 

"With  th'  lions!"  cried  the  section-boss.  "Certainly 
Ah  do." 

"  Oh,  pa,  that  isn't  the  story." 

Evan  stroked  his  moustache.  "  Ah'm  kinda  offen  th' 
trail,  honey,  ain't  Ah?  "  he  said  aside.  Then,  to  cover  his 
mistake  and  forestall  any  embarrassing  explanation,  he 
poked  the  fire  again  and  resolutely  began :  "  Pahson,  how 
'd  y'  come  t'  name  you'  hoss  Shadrach?  " 

"  He  had  been  christened  Spooks,"  began  the  evangel- 
ist, as  if  repeating  an  oft-told  tale,  "  because  his  last 
owner  mistook  him,  one  night,  for  a  ghost.  I  could  not  bear 
to  call  the  faithful  animal  by  that  name,  and,  day  after 
day,  thought  over  all  the  names  I  had  ever  heard,  striving 
to  find  one  suitable.  That  summer  something  happened 
that  decided  for  me.  Spooks  and  I  awoke  to  find  ourselves 
surrounded  by  a  prairie  fire.  And  I,  having  hitched  up 
and  then  gotten  down  into  the  bottom  of  the  wagon,  my 
good  horse  was  forced  to  meet  the  wall  of  flame  alone.  He 
came  out  unscorched.  I  knew  at  once  what  his  name  should 
be.  Henceforth,  I  called  him  Shadrach." 


80  The  Plow-Woman 

The  light  of  returning  knowledge — of  blessed  total  re- 
call— illumined  the  face  of  the  listening  section-boss.  He 
gave  the  fire  a  glad  poke  that  sent  the  burning  chips  to 
every  side,  thrust  out  his  chest  proudly  and  pinned  the 
other  with  a  triumphant  eye.  "  Wai,  how  'bout  Mehach 
and  Abednego?  "  he  demanded. 

David  Bond  studied  a  moment,  knitting  his  brows  until 
their  heavy  archings  met  in  a  single  hoary  line.  "  I  take 
their  place,"  he  said  at  last,  with  dignity. 

Following  supper,  which  Dallas  prepared,  all  gathered 
before  the  cheery  blaze.  There,  the  evangelist,  anxious  over 
the  welfare  of  the  people  among  whom  he  had  preached 
and  taught,  promptly  began  to  question  Squaw  Charley. 

"  You  have  not  told  me  of  your  capture,"  he  said,  "  or 
of  the  fight  that  came  before  it.  Were  you  taken  in  the 
north — in  the  country  of  the  White  Mother — or  in 
Dakota?" 

The  Indian  nodded. 

"Dakota?" 

Swiftly,  the  pariah's  whole  aspect  altered.  A  moment 
before,  satisfied  as  to  food,  happy  and  comfortable,  he  had 
squatted  down  in  his  blanket.  But,  now,  his  shoulders  bent, 
his  chin  sank  to  his  breast,  his  eyes  grew  dull  and  sullen. 

"  Were  you  in  the  Mauvaises  Terres?  "  queried  the  evan- 
gelist. 

Squaw  Charley  shook  his  head. 

"On  the  Powder?" 

There  was  a  silent  assent. 

"  The  soldiers  pursued ;  maybe  they  surprised  you — 
which?" 

To  answer,  thr>  Indian  rose  slowly.  With  one  of  Lan- 


Out  of  the  Sky  81 

caster's  crutches  he  raked  out  some  ashes  and  levelled  them 
upon  the  hearth-stones.  Next,  across  them,  stooping  and 
using  a  finger,  he  drew  a  varying  line  that  showed  the 
trend  of  a  stream.  Far  up  toward  its  source,  in  a  bend, 
he  placed  bits  of  bread  from  the  table  to  indicate  the 
lodges  of  his  tribesmen.  Slivers  from  a  stick  showed  that 
the  tepees  had  been  set  thickly  in  a  grove  of  tall  cotton- 
woods.  White  beans,  from  a  filled  pan  on  the  floor  near  by 
him,  stood  for  the  warriors  that  had  fought.  His  fingers 
moved  more  quickly  as,  by  means  of  a  handful  of  corn 
that  Dallas  had  put  in  his  leather  pouch,  he  planted  the 
United  States  troops  on  three  sides  of  the  Indian  camp- 
ground, and  moved  them  forward  to  the  attack. 

Adroitly  he  manoeuvred  the  opposing  forces,  with  ad- 
vancing here  and  retreating  there,  groans  when  the  white 
men  felt  the  fight  too  keenly,  low  whoops  to  picture  an 
Indian  gain1,  little  puffs  of  the  breath  to  betoken  flying 
bullets.  The  onlookers  saw  the  battle  as  it  had  raged  about 
the  tepees.  And  the  flickering  lantern,  as  Squaw  Charley 
moved  it  in  a  semicircle,  told  them  that  the  firing  began 
at  daybreak  and  continued  until  dark. 

All  at  once  he  changed  the  picture.  Twelve  beans  were 
rapidly  counted  out  and  laid  in  rows,  and  he  mourned 
softly  over  these  to  show  that  they  were  slain  warriors. 
Five  kernels  of  corn — a  line  of  pale-faced  dead — were 
placed  beside  the  bean  rows.  This  done,  he  covered  the 
lantern  with  the  grain-sack  and  leaned  back  against  the 
logs. 

"  Aye,  aye,"  cried  David  Bond,  sadly.  "  Twelve  braves 
and  five  troopers  perished !  Seventeen  souls  went  to  their 
Maker  to  mark  the  greed  of  the  white  man  and  the  yearn- 


82  The  Plow- Woman 

ing  to  harry  off  the  red !  Why  do  the  Indians  not  stay  in 
peace  and  quiet  upon  the  lands  set  apart  for  them,  and 
not  go  abroad  stealing  and  slaughtering?  Why  do  my  own 
people  not  give  back  to  their  brothers  the  country  that  is 
rightly  theirs?" 

Once  more  Squaw  Charley  stooped  forward  and,  rest- 
ing his  weight  on  one  hand,  traced  the  return  march  of 
the  troopers  to  a  crossing  of  the  Missouri,  where  the  com- 
mand had  buried  its  dead;  from  there  he  drew  the  route 
southward,  to  the  ferry  and  Fort  Brannon.  Here,  he  stuck 
the  splinters  in  a  circle  to  picture  the  stockade  below  the 
barracks.  At  last,  rising,  he  drew  his  blanket  close  about 
him,  put  the  grain-sack  over  his  tangled  hair  and,  with  a 
parting  look  toward  Dallas  and  the  evangelist,  went  slowly 
out. 

Perfect  quiet  followed  the  pariah's  going.  His  recital 
of  the  conflict,  dumb  though  it  was,  had  powerfully  stirred 
the  little  audience.  For,  as  he  had  proceeded  with  his  crude 
mimicry,  the  imagination  of  the  others  had  filled  in  the 
scenes  he  could  not  sketch. 

The  section-boss  spoke  first.  Not  incapable  of  feeling, 
yet  disliking  to  show  emotion  because  it  might  be  counted 
a  weakness,  he  hastened  to  clear  the  air.  "  Say,  Dallas," 
he  drawled,  with  a  survey  of  the  battle-field,  "  he  ought  t' 
had  some  red  Mexican  beans  fer  his  Injuns."  But  the  re- 
mark failed  to  appeal. 

David  Bond  made  a  shake-down  for  himself  beside  Lan- 
caster's bunk,  using  an  armful  of  hay  and  the  robes  and 
quilts  from  his  pung.  However,  the  fact  that  he  needed 
rest,  or  that  his  couch  was  ready,  did  not  tempt  him  from 
the  fire.  Long  after  his  host  disappeared  behind  the  swing- 


Out  of  the  Sky  83 

ing  Navajo  blankets,  he  sat  by  the  hearth.  And  Dallas 
stayed  with  him,  Marylyn's  sleepy  head  pillowed  in  her 
lap. 

The  elder  girl  felt  strangely  drawn  to  him.  He  returned 
the  interest  he  inspired.  Like  Lounsbury,  he  marked  the 
unusual  character  of  this  woman  of  the  far  frontier.  But 
he  saw  further  than  had  the  younger  man:  With  her 
father  and  sister,  she  was  all  firmness  and  strength,  as  if 
she  held  herself  to  be  the  mainstay  of  the  family ;  yet,  now 
and  then,  unwittingly,  she  betrayed  qualities  that  were 
distinctly  opposite.  Like  Lounsbury,  too,  when  he  touched 
upon  the  subject  of  her  life  it  was  to  inquire  if  she  had 
spent  any  of  its  years  in  a  town.  He  felt  certain  that  she 
had  not;  at  the  same  time,  his  belief  was  curiously  contra- 
dicted by  her  bearing. 

"  I'll  always  live  on  the  plains,"  she  said,  having  told 
him  of  the  mesa  and  their  migration  north ;  "  if  I  left  'em 
for  a  while,  I'd  learn  things  I  don't  know  now;  and  when 
I  came  back,  maybe  I  wouldn't  be  satisfied  with  the  shack, 
or  with  dad  and  Marylyn." 

"Child,  where  did  you  get  that  thought?"  he  asked, 
astonished. 

"  I  don't  know — only  my  mother  would  'a'  been  happy 
in  Texas  if  she'd  been  born  there.  But  she  wasn't,  and  she 
wanted  her  old  home  till  she  died." 

She  wanted  her  old  home  till  she  died — it  was  only  a 
sentence,  yet  the  quiet  pathos  of  it  bared  to  him  the 
tragedy  of  that  mother's  exile. 

"  Never  a  great  city,  daughter,"  he  advised.  "  Stay 
here,  menaced  by  Indians,  among  rough  men  and  women, 
with  storms  and  toil  besetting  you,  but  never  go  to  a  great 


84  The  Plow- Woman 

city.  It  is  close  and  dirty  and  paved,  and  in  it  no  man  may 
fill  his  lungs  with  pure  air,  or  touch  his  feet  to  God's  green 
earth." 

"  In  cities,"  questioned  Dallas,  but  in  a  low  tone,  as  if 
she  wished  no  one  to  overhear ;  "  in  cities,  do — do  the 
women  dress  like  me?  "  She  raised  herself  a  little,  though 
without  disturbing  Marylyn,  so  that  he  might  see  her  plain, 
collarless  waist  and  straight,  scant  skirt. 

He  gave  her  a  smile — a  smile  as  rare  and  transforming 
as  her  own.  She  had  allowed  him  a  glimpse  of  her  sup-- 
pressed girlishness.  "  Would  that  they  did,  my  daugh- 
ter," he  answered. 

"  I  mean  in  cities  like — like — Bismarck,"  she  said,  a 
trifle  consciously. 

"  Perhaps — some — eh — let  me  see."  He  was  perplexed. 
He  saw  the  eager  light  in  her  face;  saw  that,  for  some 
reason,  she  was  striving  to  compare  herself  with  the  women 
of  the  settled  districts — and  to  learn  from  him  the  very 
things  she  had  feared  might  bring  dissatisfaction  with  her 
life.  He  did  not  wish  to  teach  discontent.  He  would  not 
tell  an  untruth.  So  he  created  a  diversion  by  taking  up  his 
ulster  and  searching  in  a  capacious  pocket. 

"  But  they— they— -don't  plow." 

David  Bond  brought  forth  a  limp  and  battered  Bible. 
"  No,"  he  said ;  "  no,  they— they  don't  plow." 

"Ah!"  She  looked  into  the  fire.  Of  a  sudden,  two 
memories  had  returned — one,  of  the  passing  musicians, 
with  their  nudging  and  insolent  smirks ;  the  other,  of  a 
man  who  had  leaned  back  in  his  saddle  and  laughed — after 
all,  perhaps,  not  at  her  name. 


Out  of  the  Sky  85 

"  I — I  suppose  they're  more  like  Marylyn,"  she  fal- 
tered. 

The  evangelist  adjusted  his  silver-bowed  spectacles  and 
smiled  down  at  her.  "  And  if  they  are,  would  it  worry  you, 
daughter  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head  slowly,  and  looked  away. 

He  turned  his  back,  so  that  both  lantern-  and  fire-light 
could  reach  his  pages,  and,  opening  the  Book  at  random, 
began  to  read.  The  chapter  done,  he  turned  round  and 
glanced  at  her  again.  Her  face  was  still  averted. 

He  rose  to  retire.  She  put  Marylyn  gently  aside  and 
rose  with  him. 

Then,  and  not  till  then,  did  Dallas  think  of  their  dilemma 
of  the  morning.  The  evangelist's  coming  and  their  talk 
together  had  caused  her  entirely  to  forget  about  the  trip 
to  the  land-office.  However,  swift  on  its  remembrance, 
came  a  comforting  certainty  in  David  Bond's  sympathy 
and  aid.  At  once  she  told  him  of  the  necessity  of  her 
father's  going. 

"  Shadrach  and  I  will  start  with  him  to-morrow,"  was 
his  ready  response.  He  put  out  a  hand  to  part  the  Navajo 
blankets.  But  an  unshaped  thought  made  him  pause. 
"  You  will  be  alone." 

"  Why,  we're  not  afraid." 

"  Brave  girl ! "  he  said.  Her  confident  answer  drove 
away  the  moment's  vague  uneasiness  without  its  having 
taken  the  form  or  the  connection  he  might  have  given  it. 

"  Good-night,"  she  called  softly. 

"  Good-night,  daughter,"  he  answered,  and  the  swing- 
ing blankets  met  behind  him. 


CHAPTER    VIII 
BEFORE    THE    WARPED    DOOR 

THE  section-boss  was  thoroughly  surprised  and  not 
altogether  delighted   at  being  roused  early  the 
following  morning  with  the  news  that  he  could 
start    at   once    for   Bismarck.  As    Dallas'   voice 
penetrated  the  partition,  he  returned  the  only  reply  his 
ice-bound  moustache  and  goatee  would  permit — a  muffled 
growl.   She  did  not  hear  it,  yet  she  knew  how  he  felt.  The 
previous  day,  though  a  casual  observer  might  have  been 
misled  by  his  garrulous  fretting  over  Ben's  lameness,  she 
was  quick  to  note,  and  with  a  pang,  that,  secretly,  he  was 
relieved.   But  her  pain  at  his  laxity  and  indifference  was 
not  unmixed  with  pity.  For  to  her  crippled  father,  whose 
crutches,  in  the  snow,  hindered  rather  than  helped  him, 
she  guessed  how  long  and  lonely  and  bitter  cold  seemed 
the  way  to  the  land-office. 

Yet  it  was  something  more  than  these  aspects  of  the 
journey  that  caused  Lancaster  to  view  it  unfavourably. 
He  knew  that  in  another  thirty-six  hours,  when  the  original 
applicant's  half-year  was  up,  he,  and  not  the  other,  would 
have  the  clearer  right  to  the  quarter-section.  Therefore, 
he  regarded  the  proposed  declaration  of  abandonment,  the 
cancelling  of  the  old  entry  and  the  filing  of  a  new,  as 
forms  which  need  not  be  gone  through  with  hurriedly 
(since  the  first  claimant  had  undoubtedly  disappeared  for 

86 


Before  the  Warped  Door  87 

good  and  all),  but  which  might  be  attended  to  quite  as 
well  the  coming  spring,  when  the  roads  would  be  open  and 
the  days  warm.  Confident  of  his  perfect  security  on  the 
peninsula,  and  possessed  by  a  sneaking,  but  denied,  ab- 
horrence for  rush  and  discomfort,  he  rejoiced  at  delay. 
So,  having  left  his  snug  bed  to  fumble  about  in  the  dark 
for  his  clothes,  and,  these  donned,  having  loosed  his  speech 
before  the  grateful  blaze  in  the  fireplace,  he  did  not  argue 
fatigue  or  freezing  as  an  excuse  for  procrastination;  he 
passed  over  these  rather  too  briefly  and  enlarged  upon  his 
safe  status  as  a  settler. 

"  All  bosh,"  he  asserted  as  he  watched  Dallas  and  Mary- 
lyn  busy  with  preparations  for  breakfast.  "  A  hull  regi- 
ment of  soldiers  couldn'  put  us  offen  this  Ian',  t'  say 
nothin'  of  a  man  thet  ain't  done  a  thing  on  it  sence  he  took 
it  up.  Ah  might  jes9  as  well  stay  home." 

But  he  found  that  Dallas  was  firm  on  the  question  of 
his  going — "  haidstrong,"  he  termed  it — and  would  not 
even  pause  for  a  discussion.  She  had  risen  early  to  feed 
the  occupants  of  the  lean-to — Shadrach  in  particular; 
next,  with  a  promise  of  rest  later  on,  she  had  awaked 
Marylyn.  Formerly,  the  younger  girl  would  have  persisted 
in  questioning  her  about  the  proposed  journey,  and  in 
knowing  its  purpose.  Now,  however,  her  interest  in  it,  like 
that  in  most  things,  was  so  small  that  she  appeared  totally 
indifferent,  and  went  about  her  work  silently.  Despite  the 
fact  that  this  somewhat  revived  Dallas'  anxiety  over  her 
sister,  the  elder  girl  felt  freshly  strengthened  in  spirit.  In 
all  her  twenty  years  of  life  no  other  morning  had,  like  this 
one,  promised  her  so  much  happiness. 

When  the  evangelist  emerged  and,  after  a  sojourn  in 


88  The  Plow-Woman 

front  of  the  hearth,  joined  the  family  at  table,  Lancaster 
pined  to  ask  him  what  he  thought  of  their  braving  the- 
elements  foolishly.  Not  that  the  section-boss  esteemed  his 
aged  guest.  On  the  contrary,  Dallas'  evident  interest  in 
the  stranger  had  stirred  the  unnatural  jealousy  in  her 
father's  wizen  brain.  Already,  he  hated  David  Bond,  and 
had  set  him  down  for  a  crank.  But  Dallas  needed  a  lesson. 
It  was  all  very  well  for  her  to  do  the  outside  duties  as  if 
she  were  a  man ;  that  did  not  privilege  her  to  ride  rough- 
shod over  his  opinions,  or  to  rule  affairs  in  general  with  a 
heavy  hand.  However,  he  found  no  opportunity  for  ques- 
tions. She,  reading  impatience  and  mutiny  in  her  father's 
every  glance,  kept  up  throughout  the  meal  an  unwonted 
flow  of  talk. 

"  Dad,"  she  said,  covering  his  plate  with  a  crisp  hot-cake 
for  the  dozenth  time,  "  I  haven't  told  Mr.  Bond  all  about 
the  claim — all  the  reasons  why  we  want  him  to  take  you  to 
Bismarck ;  "  —the  section-boss  grunted  at  the  "  we  " — "  so 
you  please  tell  him  as  you're  going  along.  And  don't  let 
your  coat  get  unbuttoned,  or  your  ears  froze.  I  heated 
some  big  rocks  for  the  bottom  of  the  sleigh  and  some  little 
ones  for  your  pockets.  You'll  both  weigh  so  much  that 
Shadrach  can't  run  away  if  he  wants  to,  and  you  can't 
fall  out  into  a  drift." 

Not  a  word  from  the  others  checked  her  cheery  stream 
of  comment.  However,  breakfast  past,  and  Dallas  in  the 
lean-to,  David  Bond  managed  to  make  a  declaration.  It 
was  when  he  saw  Lancaster  take  down  the  Sharps  from  its 
pegs  by  the  mantel.  "  That  should  stay  behind,"  he  said, 
touching  the  rifle.  "  We  are  leaving  your  helpless  girls 
alone.  At  least  they  should  have  something  for  defence." 


Before  the  Warped  Door  89 

Lancaster  instantly  agreed,  observing  to  himself  that 
the  evangelist,  after  all,  had  some  commjn  sense. 
"  Shore,"  he  replied,  "  Ah'll  put  th'  gun  back  an'  we'll 
take  yourn." 

But  he  was  corrected  with  severity.  "  I  carry  no 
weapons,  sir,"  said  David  Bond.  "  I  stand  for  peace." 

"  Then  th'  gun  goes,"  declared  the  section-boss.  "  The 
gals  was  alone  before  'thout  it.  They  was  no  snow  on  th' 
groun'  then,  an'  a  heap  more  chance  of  someone  comin'. 
They  ain't  no  danger.  An'  ef  Ah  take  th'  gun,  mebbe  Ah 
c'n  git  a  deer  on  th'  way  back.  We  need  th'  meat." 

The  evangelist  considered  a  moment.  "  Very  well,"  he 
said ;  "  but  I  would  advise  differently." 

"  Aw,  shucks ! "  retorted  the  other,  struggling  with  his 
coat. 

A  moment  later,  his  irritation  was  increased.  At  the 
same  time  the  visitor  unknowingly  covered  himself  forever 
with  suspicion.  Through  the  frosty  air  and  the  darkness 
rang  out  the  first  trumpet  blast  from  Brannon.  And,  as 
if  totally  unconscious  of  the  action,  David  Bond  reached 
up  and  bared  his  head. 

"  I  love  that  summons,"  he  said ;  "  it  bids  our  good  lads 
wake  and  do  their  duty." 

Lancaster  was  not  unmindful  of  the  courtesy  due  a 
guest.  But  any  reference  to  patriotism  was  offensive,  and 
he  had  been  particularly  provoked.  So,  behind  the  broad 
shoulders  of  the  other  he  disdainfully  turned  up  his  nose. 

They  were  off  at  last,  with  Marylyn  watching  them  from 
a  window,  and  Dallas  walking  alongside  for  a  few  rods  to 
say  good-by  and  to  pat  Shadrach's  bony,  white  flanks  en- 
couragingly. Morning  was  stealing  up  the  dun  east,  yet 


90  The  Plow-Woman 

overhead  the  stars  were  shining.  And  their  near  radiance, 
reflected  upon  the  snow,  coupled  with  the  light  of  the 
slowly  growing  dawn,  made  it  possible  for  the  girls  to  fol- 
low the  travellers'  straight  course  for  miles.  But  long 
after  Marylyn  left  the  window,  the  elder  girl  remained  out- 
side. The  dun  of  the  east  was  painted  out  with  uprushing 
waves  of  pink.  The  stars  sank  back  into  the  heavens,  grew 
smaller  and  dimmer,  and,  one  by  one,  disappeared.  Finally, 
a  yellow  rind,  haloed  in  mist,  was  thrust  above  the  level 
of  the  prairie.  As  Dallas  greeted  it,  the  distant  ridge  of  a 
snow-drift,  rose-tinged  like  the  sky,  hid  the  crawling  speck 
that  was  the  pung. 

On  his  arrival  behind  David  Bond,  Nick  Matthews  had 
found  that  full  pockets  were  plentiful  among  the  soldiery, 
and  had  promptly  gone  about  emptying  them.  Soon  after 
entering  The  Trooper's  Delight,  he  sat  down  to  a  chip- 
piled  table.  His  quarry  surrounded  him.  And  there  he 
stayed  throughout  the  long  night,  wide-awake,  sharp- 
witted,  unwearied,  adding  to  his  heap  of  coloured  discs 
honestly  and  otherwise.  Not  until  reveille,  a  clarion  warn- 
ing, sent  his  fellow-players  scurrying  back  across  the 
river,  did  he  put  his  cards  one  side  and  throw  himself  down. 
For,  though  a  confirmed  night-hawk,  he  needed  a  short 
nap  to  prepare  for  some  business  that  lay  before  him. 

"  Babe,"  a  direct  contrast  to  his  brother,  being  thick- 
necked,  stumpy  and  dark,  had  not  failed  to  garner  his 
share  of  the  rich  harvest.  From  his  station  behind  the  long 
counter,  which  was  made  of  four  heavy  planks  supported 
on  barrels  at  either  end,  he  had  poured  strange  mixtures 
into  beer  mugs  and  exchanged  them  for  good  government 


Before  the  Warped  Door  91 

coin.  When  he  was  not  performing  his  part  as  bartender, 
he  was  scraping  illy  timed  tunes  upon  a  fiddle. 

It  was  he  who  was  left  in  charge  when,  shortly  after 
noon,  his  brother  awoke,  swallowed  some  whisky  and  armed 
himself  with  a  brace  of  pistols.  Then,  with  no  word  to  the 
few  loungers  in  the  saloon,  the  latter  set  out,  following 
the  road  that  led  up  the  river  to  the  ferry-landing.  At  the 
cut,  he  climbed  the  bank  at  a  leisurely  pace  and  continued 
his  way  eastward,  making  straight  across  the  snow  toward 
the  squat  shack  of  the  Lancasters. 

His  approach  was  instantly  marked.  Marylyn  was  once 
more  at  her  post,  studying  the  square  of  landscape  framed 
by  a  window.  When  he  made  a  quick  figure  on  that  land- 
scape, she  saw  him,  and  called  to  Dallas. 

"  Here's  someone  coming,"  she  announced,  inwardly 
glad  at  the  possibility  of  diversion. 

Dallas  hurriedly  joined  her.  "Who  can  it  be?"  she 
asked. 

The  door  was  unbolted,  the  other  window  not  fastened. 
Yet  so  far  were  her  thoughts  from  molestation  that  she 
left  them  so. 

"  Going  to  ask  him  in?  "  questioned  Marylyn. 

"  Not  till  I  find  out  who  he  is." 

They  fell  silent,  conjecturing. 

When  Matthews  reached  the  drift  before  the  shack,  he 
halted  and  signalled  for  them  to  open  their  window.  That 
attitude  toward  them — clearly  he  did  not  expect  a  welcome 
— at  once  roused  Dallas'  suspicion. 

"  Marylyn,"  she  said,  making  as  if  to  obey  their  visitor, 
"  draw  the  bolt  of  the  door." 

The  younger  girl,  quick  to  be  alarmed,  instantly  did  as 


92  The  Plow- Woman 

she  was  told,  and  Dallas  then  shoved  the  sash  aside.  Both 
girls  looked  from  the  opening. 

With  all  Matthews'  hostile  intent,  it  must  be  said  that 
the  moment  found  him  disconcerted.  He  had  learned  on 
arriving  that  the  section-boss  had  two  daughters.  The 
news  did  not  alter  his  determination  one  whit.  Had  any- 
one suggested  such  a  thing,  he  would  have  been  moved 
to  laughter.  But  now  he  noted  the  prettiness  of  the 
younger  girl,,  and  a  certain  conceited  desire  to  appear 
chivalrous,  which  had  earned  him  the  title  of  "  Lady- 
Killer  "  among  his  associates,  made  him  involuntarily 
spruce.  He  smiled  ingratiatingly,  and  prepared  to  launch 
into  flowery  speech  when — he  met  Dallas'  grave,  steady 
eyes,  and  suddenly  found  himself  at  a  loss  for  words. 

"  How  d'  do,  Miss?  "  he  said  at  last. 

"  How  d'  y '  do  ?  "  she  returned.  In  spite  of  herself  her 
voice  trembled. 

That  did  not  escape  Matthews.  He  shamed  his  momen- 
tary embarrassment  and  resolutely  grappled  the  matter 
that  had  brought  him.  "  I  want  t'  see  your  old  man,"  he 
said.  It  was  a  demand. 

"  Dad  can't  see  you  to-day,"  she  answered  with  ready 
caution.  She  thought  it  best  to  keep  from  him,  whoever 
he  was,  the  knowledge  of  her  father's  absence. 

"Huh!"  ejaculated  Matthews,  in  an  ugly  tone.  He 
came  a  few  paces  nearer.  "  I  got  t'  see  him,  jus'  th' 


"  But  you  can't." 
"  Ain't  he  t'  home?  " 

Marylyn  pressed  close  to  her  sister.  "  Tell  him  yes 
she  begged  nervously. 


Before  the  Warped  Door  93 

Dallas  hesitated.  Then  she  answered.  "  He's  not  home. 
Will  you  please  come  again — some  other  time?  " 

The  gambler  chuckled.  "  My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said, 
his  tone  the  extreme  of  insolence,  "  I  can't  come  no  other 
time.  Th'  business  I  got  t'  do  has  got  t'  be  done  t'-day. 
I  might  as  well  tell  you  that  my  name's  Matthews — Nick 
Matthews.  This  claim  you're  on  is  mine,  an'  I  mean  t' 
have  it.  What's  more,  I  mean  t'  have  it  t'-day." 

"  Ah !  "  Dallas  was  thinking  fast.  At  her  shoulder,  aware 
all  at  once  that  they  were  in  danger,  was  Marylyn,  cling- 
ing in  pitiful  terror. 

"  Yes"  added  Matthews,  as  if  that  clinched  the  matter. 

Dallas  looked  at  him  without  speaking. 

"  I  jus'  come  from  Dodge  City,"  he  went  on.  "  My  in- 
tention is  t'  live  on  my  land  all  winter.  I'm  very  sorry  " — 
this  ironically — "  your  old  man  took  th'  trouble  to  build 
on  it.  He  ought  t'  inquired  about  th'  claim  before  he  done 
that.  But — long's  it's  all  one  with  my  plans  fer  im- 
provin' — I  don't  see's  I  ought  t'  kick."  He  chuckled  again, 
and  spat. 

"  I  know,  and  so  does  dad,"  said  Dallas,  "  that  a  man 
filed  upon  this  quarter-section  in  July.  We  didn't  find  it 
out,  though,  till  long  after  we  built  this  house.  We  know 
his  six  months  is  almost  up,  too.  But  if  you're  him,  and 
even  if  you've  got  back  only  a  few  hours  before  it's  up, 
I'm  willing,  and  I  think  dad  '11  be,  for  you  to  have  the 
claim.  But  you  must  pay  for  what  we've  done  on  it." 

"  /  never  ast  y'  t'  do  anything  on  it." 

"  That's  so.  But  the  law  says " 

"  Aw,  th'  law  be  damned !  I  don't  pay  a  cent !  " 

"  Then  I  know  dad  won't  leave." 


94  The  Plow-Woman 

"  Oh,  you  do." 

"  Yes,"  very  quietly. 

"  Well,  let  me  tell  y',  my  dear,  that  you're  dead  wrong. 
You're  goin'  t'  git  your  duds  an'  grub  t'gether  right  now; 
in  half  a'  hour,  you  leave  this  cabin." 

At  this,  Marylyn  began  to  sob. 

"  Come,  get  a  move  on,"  ordered  Matthews,  threaten- 
ingly. He  knew  that  if  he  wished  to  regain  the  land,  there 
would  be  no  time  better  than  the  present.  He  began  to 
walk  up  and  down,  flinging  his  arms  about  to  start  the 
circulation. 

Dallas  turned  to  comfort  Marylyn,  putting  an  arm 
about  her  protectingly.  "  Hush !  "  she  said.  "  Keep  quiet, 
honey." 

"Oh,  let's  go !  let's  go !  "  wailed  the  younger  girl. 

Matthews  came  forward  again,  and  took  out  his  watch, 
a  large,  open-faced  timepiece  hung  to  a  braided  buckskin 
chain.  "  Now,  look  a-here,"  he  said  peremptorily ;  "  I 
don't  want  no  more  funny  business.  This  claim's  mine. 
Your  old  man  ain't  got  a  solitary  right  to  it.  So  you  got 
t'  go.  I'll  give  you  jus9  ten  minutes"  With  this,  he  re- 
sumed his  pacing,  comforting  his  beat  with  occasional 
draughts  from  a  flask. 

Dallas  strove  hard  to  collect  herself.  "  I  can't  do  any- 
thing till  dad  comes,"  she  called  to  him,  finally.  "  You  want 
us  to  leave.  Why,  we  haven't  got  any  place  to  go ;  and  it's 
cold " 

"  Guess  I  know  that,"  interrupted  Matthews.  "  I'm 
almost  friz." 

"  And  you've  got  no  right  to  ask  us  to  go  till  you've 
paid  for  this  house  and  the  well — and — and  my  plowing." 


\ 


I 


Before  the  Warped  Door  95 

"  I  pay  fer  nothin'  I  don't  see,  and  f er  no  hole  in  th' 
ground,"  he  said.  "  And  as  far  's  a  place  to  go  is  con- 
cerned "—this  with  a  leer—"  there's  Shanty  Town.  Why, 
the  boys  'd  be  tickled  t'  death  t'  see  y'.  Then  there's  allus 
room  at  the  Fort  when  there's  good-lookin'  gals  in  the 
fambly." 

Dallas  understood  the  insult.  Her  grey  eyes  flamed  in 
her  greyer  face.  She  slammed  the  window. 

Matthews  came  near,  so  that  his  face  all  but  touched  the 
glass.  "  Oh,  that  don't  do  no  good,  my  dear,"  he  said, 
raising  his  voice.  "  When  I  get  ready,  I'll  come  in." 

Marylyn  had  stilled  her  weeping  to  listen  to  him.  Now, 
pallid  with  fear,  she  threw  herself  upon  her  sister  and  again 
burst  forth. 

Dallas  put  her  swiftly  aside.  The  face  that  had  been 
grey  was  now  a  tense  white.  Her  eyes  were  blazing.  She 
sprang  to  the  gun  rack  and  put  up  her  arms. 

But  the  pegs  were  empty! 


CHAPTER   IX 
A    HAND    IN    THE    FUN 

WHAT    under    the    shining    sun ! "    exclaimed 
Lounsbury,   spilling  ground   coffee  into  his 
boot-tops.  He   strode   to   the   front   of   the 
store,  the  tin  scoop  in  his  hand  still  held 
recklessly  upside  down.   A  pung  was  passing  the  grocery 
— a  green  pung  drawn  by  a  milk-white  horse.  On  its  quilt- 
padded  seat  were  two  men.  Above  them,  as  they  slowly 
proceeded,  sagged  a  high    board  cross. 

Lounsbury  glanced  inquiringly  about  him.  His  neigh- 
bours were  also  watching  the  strange  sight.  At  the  win- 
dows of  the  bunk-house  opposite,  and  at  the  openings  of 
other  buildings  near,  were  many  faces,  wide  with  good- 
natured  grins.  As  Lounsbury  turned  to  the  travellers 
again  his  own  mouth  curved  in  a  smile. 

But,  all  at  once,  he  sobered.  The  pung  was  now  so  far 
away  that  the  backs  of  the  men  were  presented  to  him ;  and 
between  them,  projecting  at  a  slant  over  the  seat,  were 
the  curved  tops  of  a  pair  of  crutches. 

Jocular  opinions  of  the  passers-by  were  being  freely 
exchanged  back  and  forth ;  he  paid  no  heed  to  them.  The 
scoop  dropped  from  his  hand  and  clattered  upon  the  floor ; 
he  let  it  lay.  Silent  and  troubled,  unaware  of  the  demands 
of  an  insistent  customer,  he  looked  after  the  departing 
sleigh. 

96 


A  Hand  in  the  Fun  97 

At  last,  he  acted.  Without  waiting  even  to  put  on  his 
cap,  he  started  at  a  run  up  the  street.  His  race,  bare- 
headed, increased  the  laughter  of  those  who  were  still 
watching.  They  yelled  to  him  boisterously :  "  Sic'  'em, 
Bud!"  "Sell  'em  somethin',  John!"  "Drag  'em  back 
an'  skin  'em !  "  But  the  storekeeper  was  deaf.  Each  yard 
made  him  more  certain  of  the  identity  of  one  traveller; 
his  thoughts,  as  he  pursued,  were  of  him.  He  gained 
rapidly  on  the  pung.  At  the  edge  of  the  camp,  in  the 
trough  of  a  drift,  he  stopped  it. 

Lancaster  spoke  first,  for  Lounsbury  was  too  spent. 
"  Wai?  wal?  "  he  said  crabbedly. 

"  Excuse  me,"  panted  the  other,  giving,  in  his  eagerness, 
only  a  glance  at  David  Bond,  "  excuse  me,  but  I  see  you're 
headed  from  home.  I  wondered — I  thought  maybe  I  could 
do  a  turn  for  the  young  ladies  while  you're  gone." 

For  a  moment  the  section-boss  did  not  reply.  He  was 
still  smarting  over  Dallas'  generalship,  and,  if  anything, 
was  more  disgusted  and  rebellious  than  when  he  left  the 
shack.  So,  in  the  brief  pause,  he  gave  ready  ear  to  the 
whispering  of  the  yellow  harpy.  His  lids  lowered.  His  lip 
curled. 

"You  understand,  I'm  sure,"  Lounsbury  hastened  to 
say.  "  I  thought  they  might  be  alone,  that " 

"  Thank  y',"  answered  Lancaster,  snapping  out  each 
word ;  "  thank  y',  they  is  alone.  An'  you'll  oblige  me  a 
damn  sight  by  leavin'  'em  thet  way."  He  settled  himself  in 
his  seat.  "  Git  ap ! "  he  said  to  Shadrach.  The  pung 
slipped  slowly  on. 

Lounsbury  was  too  taken  aback  either  to  follow  or  to 
retreat.  For  a  while,  he  stayed  where  he  was,  busily  coin- 


98  The  Plow-Woman 

ing  forcible  phrases  for  the  relief  of  his  mind.  As  he  re- 
traced his  steps,  the  few  who  saw  him  were  discreetly  silent. 
For  the  camp  knew  that  there  were  rare  moments  when  it 
was  best  to  give  him  a  wide  berth. 

The  interview  in  the  trough  of  the  drift  was  so  brief 
that  David  Bond  was  shut  out  of  it.  But  had  it  been 
longer — had  he  been  given  a  chance  to  speak — the  result 
might  have  been  the  same.  The  section-boss  had  been  mute 
all  the  way  to  Clark's.  The  fact  that  Dallas  had  told  him 
to  relate  the  story  of  the  claim  was  the  strongest  reason 
for  his  not  doing  so.  David  Bond,  therefore,  was  left  in 
ignorance,  and  had  no  means  of  connecting  the  evil  com- 
panion of  his  journey  north  with  the  fortunes  of  the  Lan- 
caster s.  So,  as  they  left  Lounsbury  behind,  he  even  found 
some  censure  in  his  heart  for  the  storekeeper. 

"  You  were  quite  right,"  he  said,  flicking  Shadrach 
gently.  "  That  young  man  should  pay  no  visit  to  your 
daughters  while  you  are  absent.  Yet," — he  could  not  re- 
frain from  putting  a  reproof  where  it  seemed  due — "  yet, 
I  regret  your  manner  of  addressing  him,  your  oath — 

Lancaster  glared.  "  Oh,  you'  gran'mother's  tortoise- 
shell  cat ! "  he  said  wrathfully.  For  several  hours  there- 
after he  added  nothing  to  this. 

Back  in  his  store,  Lounsbury  was  mixing  brown  sugar 
with  white,  oolong  tea  with  a  green  variety,  and  putting 
thread  in  the  pickle-barrel.  Simultaneously,  he  was  tortur- 
ing himself:  Had  the  section-boss  left  home  with  no  dan- 
ger threatening?  But — the  green  pung  was  undoubtedly 
bound  for  Bismarck.  What  was  it  that  had  suddenly  made 
him  see  the  necessity  of  attending  to  the  claim?  Along 
with  this  came  self -arraignment :  After  all,  he  should  have 


A  Hand  in  the  Fun  99 

told  Lancaster  that  a  man  who  claimed  the  quarter-section 
on  the  peninsula  had  been  called  from  Dodge  City.  Louns- 
bury  had  been  certain  that  Matthews  could  not  reach  Fort 
Brannon  before  the  spring.  But  it  had  never  occurred  to 
him  that  the  section-boss  would  leave  his  girls  alone !  Now, 
he  vowed  that  if  any  harm  befell  Dallas  and  Marylyn,  he 
had  only  himself  to  blame. 

He  buckled  on  his  pistol-belt  and  padlocked  the  door. 
"  I  don't  care  whether  the  old  man  likes  it  or  not,"  he  de- 
clared aloud,  "  I'm  going  down  there." 

As  he  swung  through  the  camp  on  his  way  to  the  corral, 
he  saw  one  of  Old  Michael's  helpers  coming  toward  him, 
picking  his  steps  in  the  slush.  The  man  motioned,  and  held 
out  a  white  something.  It  was  an  envelope,  grimy  and  un- 
addressed. 

Lounsbury  ripped  it  open  and  pulled  out  a  written  sheet. 

"  der  mr  lunsbery  [ran  the  note]  mathuse  com  las  nite  in  a 
quere  outfit  with  a  krazy  preecher  the  preecher  i  think  is  at 
the  landcasters  but  the  other  sunuvagun  is  her  i  hav  a  i  on 
him  prity  kold  wether  river  sollid." 

It  was  partly  through  the  generous  employment  of  his 
imagination  that  the  storekeeper  was  able  to  make  out  the 
scrawl,  which,  though  not  signed,  he  knew  to  be  the  pilot's. 
That  same  imagination  enabled  him  to  bring  up  number- 
less disturbing — almost  terrible — pictures. 

The  astonished  helper  gazed  after  him  as  he  went  tear- 
ing away  in  the  direction  of  the  horse-herd.  "  By  jingo!  " 
he  grumbled ;  "  twenty  miles — and  he  didn't  even  say 
treat!" 


100  The  Plow-Woman 

Soon  Lounsbury's  favorite  saddler,  urged  on  by  a  quirt, 
was  kicking  up  a  path  across  the  crusted  drifts  that  Shad- 
rach  had  so  recently  surmounted.  As  the  storekeeper  can- 
tered swiftly  forward,  a  new  question  presented  itself  to 
him :  Was  the  "  preacher  "  in  league  with  Matthews,  and 
so  was  carrying  the  section-boss  out  of  the  way?  He  de- 
cided negatively.  He  had  given  only  a  glance  to  Lancas- 
ter's companion,  but  that,  together  with  the  passing 
glimpse  from  the  store,  had  shown  him  a  venerable  man 
whose  piercing  eyes  held  a  pious  light.  He  was  no  scoun- 
drel confederate.  He  was  plainly  but  a  brave,  perhaps  a 
fanatic  and  foolhardy,  apostle  in  the  wilderness,  and  his 
calling  had  kept  Matthews  from  confiding  in  him. 

While  Lounsbury  thus  alternately  tortured  and  eased 
his  mind,  he  had  passed  the  sombre  clump  of  cottonwoods 
where  the  Indian  dead  were  lashed,  and  was  fast  covering 
the  miles  that  lay  between  the  burial  boughs  and  Fort 
Brannon. 

When  the  ten  minutes  he  had  allotted  were  past,  Mat- 
thews made  a  great  show  of  putting  away  his  watch  and 
took  a  last  pull  at  the  whisky  flask.  The  bottle  disposed 
of,  he  walked  down  the  drift  to  the  warped  door  and 
rapped  a  staccato.  No  answer  was  returned.  Again,  he 
rapped,  and  more  imperatively  than  before.  Again,  no 
answer.  He  pushed  back  his  hat  and  applied  an  ear  to  the 
hole  through  which  had  hung  the  lifting-string  of  the 
latch.  Then  he  heard  long,  unfrequent  sobs,  like  those  of 
a  child  who,  though  almost  asleep,  is  yet  sorrowing.  Be- 
tween the  sobs,  punctuating  them  fiercely,  sounded  the  pro- 
longed sucking-in  of  breath. 


A  Hand  in  tHe  P.un  101 

"  Might  as  well  stop  y'  bawlin'  an'  squallin',"  he  called 
through  the  latch-hole.  "  Time  's  up !  " 

Getting  no  reply,  as  before,  he  altered  his  tactics.  First, 
shading  his  face  with  his  slim  fingers,  he  looked  in.  He 
could  not  see  the  girls.  Dallas  was  close  to  the  door  and 
beyond  the  limit  of  his  vision.  So  was  Marylyn,  who,  help- 
less with  fright,  half  knelt,  half  lay,  against  her  sister. 
What  he  could  see  was — from  the  south  window — the 
gaudy  Navajo  blankets  forming  two  partitions  of  Lan- 
caster's bedroom,  and,  nearer,  two  partly  filled  sacks, 
some  harnesses  and  the  seat  of  a  wagon.  The  other  win- 
dow afforded  a  better  view.  "  Looks  mighty  comfortable," 
he  said  as  he  contemplated  it.  There  was  a  hearth  with  its 
dying  fire ;  in  front  of  it  were  circling  benches  and  a  thick 
buffalo-skin  rug;  above  was  a  mantel,  piled  with  calico- 
covered  books ;  a  freshly  scrubbed  table  stood  in  the  far- 
ther corner  beneath  a  dish-cupboard,  which  was  made  of  a 
drygoods  box;  to  the  left  of  this — high  up  on  the  log 
wall — were  a  couple  of  pegs. 

It  was  these  that  finally  riveted  Matthews'  attention  and 
brought  him  to  a  temporary  halt.  "  Got  th'  gun  down !  " 
he  exclaimed.  On  finding  that  Lancaster  was  gone,  he  had 
decided  not  to  produce  a  weapon.  Now,  however,  he  quickly 
felt  for  one  and  dropped  on  all  fours.  "  That  biggest  gal 
'd  no  more  mind  pumpin'  lead  into  me  than  nothin',"  he 
declared,  wagging  his  head  wisely.  "  I  could  tell  that  by 
the  shine  in  her  eyes."  He  crawled  around  the  corner. 

Behind  the  lean-to,  he  came  to  several  conclusions:  It 
would  be  useless  to  try  to  get  in  by  either  window;  both 
were  high  and  small;  the  best  spot  for  an  attack  was  the 
door.  Unless  he  was  hard  pressed,  he  must  not  shoot; 


102  The  Pl&v-Woman 

women  were  concerned,  and  the  fort  or  Clark's  might  be 
stirred  to  unreasonable  retaliation  in  their  name;  for  ex- 
ample, there  was  that  poor  devil  of  a  cow-puncher  at 
Dodge  who  had  been  riddled  simply  for  slapping  his 
wife.  .  .  .  Obviously,  the  shack  must  be  occupied 
without  the  shedding  of  blood.  But  what  of  his  safety? 
"  I'll  jus'  have  t'  chance  it,"  he  said,  and  hunted  for  some- 
thing to  use  as  a  battering-ram. 

Not  a  pole,  not  even  a  piece  of  board,  could  he  find.  A 
scarcity  of  fuel  before  Squaw  Charley  began  furnishing  it 
had  led  to  the  burning  of  every  odd  bit  of  timber.  Dis- 
gruntled, but  not  discouraged,  Matthews  crawled  back  to 
the  front  of  the  cabin  and  closely  examined  the  door.  "  I 
thought  so!"  he  declared  joyfully  when  he  was  done. 
Rain  and  snow  had  swelled  the  thick  boards  of  which  it 
was  built.  But  through  the  narrow  cracks  between  these, 
he  saw  that  the  transverse  pieces  on  the  inside,  like  the  four 
without,  were  only  slender  battens.  "  If  I  can  git  some  of 
them  cleats  off,"  he  said,  "  I  can  bust  in." 

With  a  horn-handle  knife  he  pried  up  the  end  of  a 
batten  until  he  could  get  his  fingers  beneath  it.  Then  he 
pulled,  and  it  came  away.  A  light  strip  from  side  to  side 
marked  where  it  had  been.  Three  times  more  he  pried  and 
pulled,  and  the  outer  transverse  pieces  lay  on  the  snow. 
For  the  rest  of  his  job  Matthews  had  to  depend  on  his 
shoulders. 

Putting  his  knife  in  his  pocket,  he  backed  to  the  top 
of  the  nearest  drift.  There  he  gathered  himself  together 
and,  with  a  defiant  grunt,  hurled  himself  headlong  at  the 
door.  As  it  bent  with  the  force  of  the  impact,  a  shriek  rang 
out.  Well  satisfied,  Matthews  retreated  and  flung  himself 


A  Hand  in  the  Fun  103 

forward  a  second  time.  The  door  cracked  ominously ;  the 
inside  bolt  rattled  in  its  sockets.  Anticipating  a  speedy 
entrance,  Matthews  warmed  to  his  task.  And  each  time  he 
fell  upon  the  barrier,  a  weak  moan  from  within  swelled  to 
a  cry  of  mortal  terror. 

And  then — a  few  feet  behind  him,  a  voice  interrupted — 
a  well-modulated  voice,  in  an  amused,  ironical  tone. 
"  Well,"  it  said  slowly,  "  I  hope  you're  enjoying  your- 
self." 

Matthews  whirled  and  reached  for  a  weapon.  He  was 
too  late.  As  he  swung  it  forward,  the  single  eye  of  a  re- 
volver held  his.  Beyond  was  Lounsbury. 

A  queer  tremor  ran  around  the  storekeeper's  mouth.  His 
nostrils  swelled,  and  he  wrinkled  his  forehead.  "  Sorry," 
he  said  drily,  "  but  it's  my  bead." 

Sheer  surprise,  together  with  a  lack  of  breath,  made  the 
other  dumb. 

"  Drop  your  gun,"  bade  Lounsbury. 

Matthews'  right  hand  loosed  its  hold.  His  revolver  fell, 
and  slid,  spinning,  to  the  bottom  of  the  drift. 

"  Now  I  know  all  you  want  to  say,"  said  Lounsbury. 
"  That  this  claim  is  yours,  that  your  six  months  ain't  up, 
that  Lancaster's  jumped  it,  and  so  on.  But  that  won't 
excuse  what  you've  tried  to  do — break  into  this  house 
while  these  young  women  are  alone.  Besides,  you  haven't 
the  ghost  of  a  right  to  this  land.  So  you'll  oblige  me  by 
keeping  off  it  from  now  on." 

Matthews  found  his  tongue.  "  Who  in  hell  are  you  ?  "  he 
demanded  coolly. 

"  Who  am  I  ?  "  repeated  the  storekeeper,  smiling  down 
the  revolver  barrel.  "  Why,  I'm  St.  George,  and  you're 


104  The  Plow-Woman 

the  dragon."  He  raised  his  voice.  "  Miss  Lancaster !  "  he 
called.  "  Miss  Lancaster!  " 

A  face  appeared  at  a  window,  then  a  second.  There 
were  more  cries,  but  not  of  fear.  The  sash  was  pushed 
open.  Dallas  and  Marylyn,  the  younger  girl  still  clinging 
to  the  elder,  looked  out. 

"  It's  all  right,"  said  the  storekeeper,  not  taking  his 
eyes  from  the  enemy.  "  I'm  here." 

Dallas  could  not  answer.  But  Marylyn,  though  ex- 
hausted, was  fully  alive  to  their  rescue.  Her  eyes,  wide  and 
tearful,  were  fixed  upon  Lounsbury. 

"  Oh,  we're  afraid !  "  she  cried  plaintively ;  "  pa's  gone, 
and  we're  afraid !  " 

"  You  needn't  be,  any  more,"  he  said  reassuringly. 

Matthews,  under  his  breath,  was  cursing  the  self-con- 
tained man  in  the  saddle.  Enraged  at  the  storekeeper's  in- 
terference, hot  with  disappointment,  he  saw  himself  stood 
up  like  a  tenderfoot.  But  his  caution  prevailed.  A  certain 
expression  in  Lounsbury's  eyes,  a  certain  square  set  to  his 
jaw — the  very  cues  that  guided  the  cattle-camp—made 
him  cautious. 

"  Look  a-here,"  he  said  to  Lounsbury,  assuming  a  con- 
ciliatory manner.  "  Let's  talk  as  one  gent  to  another. 
These  ladies  is  your  friends.  So  far,  so  good.  But  I  has 
my  rights,  and  I  can  prove  that  I  slep'  on  this  quarter- 
section  three  times  and " 

Lounsbury's  face  darkened.  He  was  lightly  ironical  no 
longer.  He  urged  his  mount  forward.  "  Don't  argue  with 
me,  you  infernal  blackguard,"  he  said.  "  You  can  prove 
anything  you  want  to  by  a  lot  of  perjuring,  thieving  land- 
grabbers.  Don't  I  know  'em !  If  you  filed  on  this  claim  you 


A  Hand  in  the  Fun  105 

were  hired  to  do  it.  You  hadn't  an  idea  of  settling,  or 
building  a  home.  You  did  it  for  speculating  purposes — • 
nothing  else.  And  the  law,  I  happen  to  know,  is  dead 
against  that.  You're  a  shark.  But  your  game  won't  work. 
These  folks  are  going  to  stay  in  this  shack  and  on  this 
Bend.  And  you  be  mighty  careful  you  don't  make  'em  any 
trouble!  " 

"  I'll  git  a  Bismarck  lawyer,"  declared  Matthews. 

"  Yes,  and  we'll  tar  and  feather  the  shyster.  What's 
more,  I'll  head  a  bunch  of  Clark's  boys,  and  we'll  wipe 
Shanty  Town  off  the  face  of  the  earth." 

Matthews  raised  his  shoulders  and  put  his  tongue  in  his 
cheek.  "  You're  mighty  interested  in  these  ladies,  seems  t' 
me,"  he  said  insinuatingly. 

The  slur  did  not  escape  the  storekeeper.  It  determined 
him  to  parley  no  further.  "  Hoist  your  hands ! "  he  com- 
manded. 

Matthews  obeyed.  His  fingers  were  twitching. 

The  next  command  was  curt.  "  Mosey !  " 

The  other  moved  away.  When  he  was  beyond  pistol 
range,  he  produced  his  second  revolver  and  waved  it  above 
his  head.  "  You  jus'  wait! "  he  shouted.  "  You  jus'  wait! 
I'll  fix  y'!" 

Lounsbury  returned  him  a  mocking  salute. 


CHAPTER    X 

AN    APPEAL    TO    HEADQUARTERS 

A  Matthews  ceased  his  threatening  and  strode  on, 
a  new  fear  came  over  Dallas.  She  leaned  toward 
Lounsbury  from  the  window.  "  What  does  he 
mean  by  '  fixing  you  '  ?  "  she  asked  hoarsely. 

The  storekeeper  was  still  watching  riverward,  and  he 
answered  without  turning  his  head.  "  He  means  it's  a  case 
of  shoot  on  sight,"  he  said. 

"  Then  you  mustn't  go  near  him — you  must  go  back  to 
Clark's.  Promise  me  you  will !  I  can  take  care  of  Marylyn 
till  dad  comes.  If  you  got  hurt ' 

Lounsbury  threw  one  leg  over  the  pommel  and  sat  side- 
ways for  a  while,  buckling  and  unbuckling  his  reins.  When 
he  spoke,  it  was  very  gently,  and  again  he  did  not  look  at 
her.  "  Hadn't  you  better  wrap  up  a  little?  "  he  suggested. 
"  It's  cold." 

She  put  a  coat  about  Marylyn.  "  It  ain't  right  for  you 
to  make  our  quarrel  yours.  You  mustn't.  I  wouldn't  have 
you  hurt  on  our  account  for  anything."  Her  eyes  be- 
seeched  him. 

He  glanced  at  her.  "  It's  worth  a  lot  to  know  you  feel 
that  way,"  he  said  slowly.  "  But — I'm  afraid  I  can't  do 
what  you  want.  It's  your  safety  that  counts  with  me." 

Marylyn's  face  had  been  hidden,  to  shut  out  the  dread 
sight  of  Matthews.  Now  she  lifted  it.  She  said  nothing. 

106 


An  Appeal  to  Headquarters  107 

But  as  if  suddenly  smitten  by  a  painful  thought,  she  turned 
from  Dallas  to  Lounsbury,  from  Lounsbury  to  Dallas, 
questioningly,  doubtfully.  She  drew  to  one  side  a  few  steps, 
and  stood  alone. 

The  movement  escaped  the  others.  The  storekeeper  had 
slipped  from  his  saddle  to  pick  up  Matthews'  revolver.  And 
the  elder  girl,  against  whom  was  setting  in  a  tide  of  re- 
action, was  struggling  for  composure.  She  put  out  a 
trembling  hand  for  the  weapon. 

"  Got  a  rifle,  too,  haven't  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"No.  Dad  took  it." 

"  Good  Heavens !  I'm  glad  I  didn't  know  that  coming 
down!" 

"  How'd  you  happen  to  come  ?  " 

"  I  saw  the  sleigh  go  by,  and  was  sure  something  had 
scared  your  father  about  the  claim.  So  I  didn't  wait  to 
black  my  boots." 

"  Oh,  it  was  a  comfort  to  hear  you,"  she  said. 

"  Was  it?  "  eagerly.  He  stepped  toward  her;  then  drew 
back.  "  Well,"— with  a  feeble  attempt  at  humour—"  I'd 
rather  be  a  comfort  than  a  wet  blanket."  He  had  remem- 
bered that  evil  eyes  were  watching;  that  his  least  move 
might  subject  Lancaster's  daughters  to  the  coarse  com- 
ment of  Shanty  Town.  He  dared  not  even  remain  out  of 
his  saddle.  He  mounted. 

"  Oh,  you're  going  to  leave  us ! "  exclaimed  Marylyn. 
She  began  to  cry  helplessly. 

"  But  I'll  be  on  the  lookout  every  second,"  he  declared. 
"  Miss  Dallas," — he  urged  his  horse  up  to  the  window — 
"  don't  think  I'm  idiot  enough  to  try  to  do  up  that  saloon 
gang  down  there  single-handed.  If  I  go  to  Shanty  Town, 


108  The  PIdw-Woman 

it  '11  be  because  I  have  to.  I  won't  go  alone  if  I  can  help 
it.  First  of  all,  I  intend  to  see  the  Colonel  over  there,  and 
lay  this  matter  before  him." 

"  But  dad  --  "  she  began. 

"  Got  to  do  it,  whether  your  father  likes  it  or  not.  We're 
dealing  with  a  cutthroat.  He  knows  this  land's  worth 
money." 


"  And  you  can't  tell  what  he'll  do."  He  bent  to  her. 
"  That  scoundrel  scared  you,"  he  said  regretfully. 
"  You're  ready  to  drop.  Oh,  yes,  you  are  !  And  it's  my 
fault.  I  knew  he  might  come  any  day  —  that  he'd  make 
trouble.  But  I  didn't  believe  he'd  get  here  so  soon,  I  -  " 

"  I'd  given  him  up,"  she  said. 

"  You  !  You  did  know,  then  !  " 

"  Quite  a  while  ago." 

"Knew  what?"  asked  Marylyn,  stopping  her  tears. 
Then,  certain  that  there  was  some  awful  secret  behind  it 
all,  and  that  it  was  being  kept  from  her,  she  began  to  cry 
again. 

Dallas  soothed  her,  and  explained. 

"  Do  you  know  when  Matthews'  six  months  is  up  ?  " 
Lounsbury  inquired. 

"  To-night,  at  twelve." 

"  To-night  !  Well,  we've  got  to  keep  him  off.  He  may 
try  to  establish  residence  in  a  wickiup." 

"  But  hasn't  he  a  right?  Can't  he  --  " 

"  He  hasn't,  and  he  can't.  And  if  he  comes  this  way 
after  midnight,  I'll  fix  him  for  trespassing  !  "  He  laughed. 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  go  to  the  Fort,  though.  You've 
heard  dad  —  you  know  how  he  feels." 


An  Appeal  to  Headquarters  109 

"  I  wouldn't  go  if  I  didn't  have  to.  But  the  tempera- 
ture's falling.  By  sundown,  they'll  begin  changing  the  sen- 
tries at  Brannon  every  hour.  No  one  man  could  stay  out 
even  half  the  night.  And  this  shack  has  to  be  guarded 
till  morning.  I  must  get  someone  to  relieve  me." 

"  I  suppose  you're  right,"  she  said  reluctantly. 

He  brought  the  horse  about.  "  Is  there  anything  I  can 
do  before  I  go?  "  he  asked. 

"  No.  We've  got  everything  but  wood,  and  Charley 
brings  us  that." 

"  Charley,"  repeated  Lounsbury.  "  Who's  Charley  ?  " 

She  told  him. 

He  seemed  relieved.  "  I'll  look  that  Indian  up,"  he  said, 
and  raised  his  hand  to  his  cap. 

From  the  road,  he  looked  round.  Despite  the  distance, 
he  could  see  that  the  girls  were  where  he  had  left  them,  and 
Marylyn's  head  was  once  more  pressed  against  her  sister. 
The  sight  made  him  writhe  in  his  saddle,  and  wish  he  were 
as  old  as  the  river-bluffs  themselves,  that  he  might  go  back 
and  protect  them.  As  he  descended  to  the  ice  their  two 
faces  rose  before  him :  One,  pretty  and  pale,  with  the  soft 
roundness  of  a  child's,  the  blue  eyes  filled  with  all  a  child's 
terror  and  entreaty ;  the  other,  pale,  too, — though  upon  it 
there  still  lingered  the  brown  of  the  summer  sun — but  firm 
of  outline,  its  crown  a  heavy  coil  of  braids,  its  centre,  eyes 
that  were  brave,  steadfast,  compelling. 

The  first  picture  blurred  in  remembering  the  second. 
"  God  bless  her ! "  he  murmured.  "  To  think  she  knew  all 
the  time,  and  never  cheeped !  " 

At  the  shack,  Dallas,  too,  was  pondering — over  a 
strange  contrariety:  Their  home  was  in  danger,  perhaps 


110  The  Pldw- Woman 

their  very  lives.  Yet  the  day  had  fulfilled  its  promise  of 
the  morning — it  was  the  happiest  in  her  life ! 

The  ramshackle  ferry-boat  was  firmly  wedged  in  a  dry- 
dock  of  ice  on  the  western  side  of  the  Missouri.  As  Louns- 
bury  passed  it,  with  his  horse  following  pluckily  in  spread- 
eagle  fashion,  he  shouted  for  Old  Michael.  But  long 
before  the  river  had  floored,  when  it  was  edging  and  cover- 
ing only  in  the  least  swift  places,  the  pilot  had  made  his 
final  crossing,  run  the  wheezy  steamer,  nose-in,  against  the 
bank,  and  deserted  her.  So  the  storekeeper  received  no 
answering  halloo.  He  was  disappointed.  It  was  desirable 
to  embroil  as  few  as  possible  in  the  Lancaster  dispute.  Old 
Michael,  already  a  factor,  was  needed  to  act  the  picket — 
to  fire  a  warning  signal  if  Matthews  left  Shanty  Town. 

A  substitute  was  found  at  the  stables.  The  storekeeper, 
as  he  rushed  away  after  disposing  of  his  mount,  came  upon 
Lieutenant  Fraser,  busily  reaching  his  own  riding-animal, 
a  flighty  buckskin  cayuse  that  no  one  else  cared  to  handle, 
and  that  was  affectionately  known  in  barracks  as  the 
"  She-devil."  The  men  had  met  before,  around  the  billiard- 
table  at  the  sutler's,  and  Lounsbury  had  set  the  young 
officer  down  for  a  chivalrous,  but  rather  chicken-hearted, 
youngster,  who  had  chosen  his  profession  unwisely.  So,  his 
story  told,  the  storekeeper  was  altogether  surprised  at 
Fraser's  spirited  enthusiasm  and  quick  response. 

"  I've  nothing  to  do,  old  man,"  he  said,  as  they  went 
toward  the  parade-ground.  "  I  can  help  as  well  as  not.  So 
just  take  your  time.  I'll  watch  for  you." 

"  I  hardly  think  our  man  '11  show  his  nose  before  dark. 
But  I  can't  leave  the  way  open " 


An  Appeal  to  Headquarters  111 

"  Don't  fret." 

They  parted  at  the  flag-pole,  the  West  Pointer  going 
down  to  the  river,  and  Lounsbury  hurrying  off  in  the 
opposite  direction. 

Colonel  Cummings'  entry  and  reception-room  were 
crowded  when  the  storekeeper  entered.  A  score  of  officers 
were  standing  about  in  little  groups,  talking  excitedly. 
But  Lounsbury  was  too  anxious  and  distraught  to  notice 
anything  unusual.  He  hurried  up  to  a  tall,  sad-faced  man 
whose  moustache,  thin  and  coarse,  drooped  sheer  over  his 
mouth,  giving  him  the  look  of  a  martyred  walrus. 

"  Can  I  see  the  K.  O.,  Captain  Oliver?  "  he  asked.  "  It's 
important." 

"I'll  find  out,"  answered  the  captain.  "But  I  don't 
believe  you  can.  He's  up  to  his  ears."  He  disappeared  into 
the  next  room. 

Lounsbury  bowed  to  several  officers,  though  he  scarcely 
saw  them.  He  heard  Oliver's  low  voice,  evidently  announc- 
ing him,  then  the  colonel's. 

"Yes,  bring  him  in,"  cried  the  latter.  "Maybe  he'll 
know." 

The  storekeeper  entered  without  waiting.  Colonel  Cum- 
mings  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room.  It  was  the  room 
known  as  his  library,  in  compliment  to  a  row  of  dog-eared 
volumes  that  had  somehow  survived  many  a  wet  bivouac 
and  rough  march.  But  it  resembled  a  museum.  In  the 
corners,  on  the  walls  beneath  the  bulky  heads  of  buffalo 
and  the  branching  antlers  of  elk,  there  were  swords,  toma- 
hawks, bows  and  arrows,  strings  of  glass  wampum,  car- 
tridge belts,  Indian  bonnets,  drums  and  shields,  and  a  mis- 
cellany of  warlike  odds  and  ends.  To-day,  the  room  was 


112  The  Plow-Woman 

further  littered  by  maps,  which  covered  the  table,  the 
benches,  and  the  whole  length  of  an  army  cot.  Over  one  of 
these  hung  the  colonel,  making  imaginary  journeys  with 
the  end  of  a  dead  cigar. 

He  turned  swiftly  to  Lounsbury,  and  caught  him  by  the 
shoulders.  "  John,"  he  said,  before  the  other  could  speak, 
"  I  need  an  interpreter.  You've  been  about  here  for  years 
— do  you  know  one  ?  " 

"  There's  Soggy,  that  Phil  Kearney  fellow " 

The  colonel  gave  a  grunt  of  disgust.  "In  jail  at 
Omaha,"  he  said.  "  Played  cards  with  a  galoot  who  had 
some  aces  in  his  boot-tops.  Plugged  him." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  your  Rees  ?  " 

"That's  just  it!  You  see,  that  bunch  of  Sioux  out 
there " — he  jerked  his  head  toward  the  stockade — 
"  helped  in  a  bit  of  treachery  two  summers  ago.  Rounded 
up  some  friendly  Rees  at  a  dance  and  scalped  'em.  So — 
there's  poison  for  you !  In  this  business  on  hand  I  couldn't 
trust  even  my  head  scout."  He  began  pacing  the  floor. 
"  Anyway,  sign  language,  when  there  are  terms  to  be  made 
and  kept,  isn't  worth  a  hang ! " 

"  I  wish  I  could  suggest  a  man,"  said  Lounsbury.  "  Fact 
is,  Colonel,  I'm  terribly  worried  myself.  I  came  to  ask  you 
for  help  in  some  trouble " 

The  old  soldier  threw  up  his  hands.  "  Trouble ! "  he 
cried.  "Why  I'm  simply  daft  with  it!  Look  at  that!" 
He  pointed  to  the  farthest  side  of  the  room. 

It  was  dimly  lighted  there.  Lounsbury  stepped  forward 
and  peered  down — then  recoiled,  as  startled  as  if  he  had 
happened  upon  something  dead.  On  the  floor  was  a  man — 
a  man  whose  back  was  bent  rounding,  and  whose  arms  and 


An  Appeal  to  Headquarters  113 

legs  were  hugged  up  against  his  abdomen  and  chest.  Torso 
and  limbs  were  alike,  frightfully  shrunken;  the  hands, 
mere  claws.  Lounsbury  could  not  see  the  face.  But  the 
hair  was  uncovered,  and  it  was  the  hair  that  made  him 
"  goose-flesh  "  from  head  to  heel.  It  was  white — not  the 
white  of  old  age,  with  glancing  tints  of  silver  or  yellow — 
but  the  dead  white  of  an  agony  that  had  withered  it  to  the 
roots.  Circling  it,  and  separating  the  scalp  from  the  face 
and  neck,  ran  a  narrow  fringe  that  was  still  brown,  as  if, 
changing  in  a  night,  it  had  lacked  full  time  for  completion. 

Lounsbury  could  not  take  his  eyes  from  the  huddled 
shape.  Colonel  Cummings  paused  beside  him.  "  This  morn- 
ing," he  said,  speaking  in  an  undertone,  "  a  sentry  sig- 
nalled from  beyond  the  barracks.  Two  or  three  men  took 
guns  and  ran  out.  They  found  this.  His  clothes  were  stiff 
with  ice.  He  was  almost  frozen,  though  he  had  been  travel- 
ling steadily.  He  was  utterly  worn  out,  and  was  crawling 
forward  on  his  hands  and  knees."  The  ragged  sleeves  and 
trousers,  stained  darker  from  the  wounds  on  elbows  and 
knees,  were  mute  testimony.  "  He  couldn't  see,"  continued 
the  colonel.  "  He  was  snow-blind.  They  laid  him  out  on 
a  drift  and  rubbed  him.  The  surgeon  did  the  rest.  He 
begged  to  see  me.  They  brought  him  in,  and  he  told  his 
story.  It's  an  old  one — you've  heard  it.  But  it's  always 
new,  too.  This  is  Frank  Jamieson,  a  young " 

As  he  heard  his  name,  the  man  stirred,  straightened  his 
legs  and  let  fall  his  arms.  He  looked  up. 

"Young!"  gasped  Lounsbury.  "Good  God!"  The 
face  was  aged  like  the  hair ! 

Jamieson  struggled  weakly  to  his  feet,  using  the  wall  to 
brace  him. 


114  The  Plo^-Woman 

Colonel  Cummings  hastened  across  and  lent  the  support 
of  an  arm.  "  No,  no,"  he  protested.  "  You  mustn't  talk. 
You're  too  weak." 

But  Jamieson  did  not  heed.  "  You  an  interpreter?  "  he 
asked  in  a  rasping  whisper. 

"  You're  too  weak " 

"  No,  I  ain't ;  no,  I  ain't.  If  he'll  go  with  us,  I'm  strong 
enough — why,  I  shovelled  snow  on  the  special  to  Bismarck 
— that's  how  they  let  me  ride — and  skating  home  I  didn't 
stop  to  rest " 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  boy,  we  know." 

"  I  walked  and  walked — straps  broke — I  forgot  to  tell 
you — that's  why  I  had  to.  But  it  didn't  do  any  good — it 
didn't  do  any  good!  When  I  got  there —  '  As  if  to 
shut  out  some  terrible  sight,  he  screened  his  eyes  with  one 
palsied  hand,  and  sank  back  limply  into  Colonel  Cummings' 
arms.  Lounsbury  swept  the  cot  clean  of  maps,  and  they 
laid  him  there. 

"  His  father  was  dead,"  said  the  commanding  officer ; 
"  dead — and  naked,  scalped,  mutilated,  full  of  arrows  and 
rifle  balls.  The  house  and  barns  were  burned." 

"  Any  women  ?  " 

"  Two— gone." 

Jamieson  put  out  his  arms.  "  My  mother ! "  he  cried 
imploringly.  "  My  poor  little  mother !  " 

Lounsbury  knelt  beside  him,  feeling  shaken  and  half  sick. 

"  If  I  could  only  'a'  been  there !  But  I  was  'way  off  at 
St.  Paul.  I  knew  something  was  wrong  when  the  letters 
stopped." 

"  But  you  must  buck  up,  Jamieson,"  said  the  colonel, 
"  so  you  can  help  us." 


'An  Appeal  to  Headquarters  115 

« I  will,  oh,  I  will." 

"  How'd  you  get  down  here  ?  "  asked  Lounsbury. 

"  I  didn't  eat  for  a  long  time.  I  was  crazy.  The  snow 
blinded  me,  and  I  was  hungry.  But  I  didn't  leave  the 
river — I  knew  enough  for  that — they  found  me." 

"  You  think  the  women  are  alive,  Colonel?  "  asked  the 
storekeeper. 

"  Undoubtedly,  and  with  the  other  half  of  the  very  band 
we've  got  here — somewhere  up  in  the  Big  Horn  country." 
He  took  a  turn  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  May  I  ask  your  plan  ?  " 

"  We  are  in  fine  shape  to  talk  terms  to  the  captors. 
I'll  send  a  command  to  them,  demanding  the  women.  If 
they  are  not  surrendered,  I'll  hang  four  of  the  redskins 
I've  got  here,  Lame  Foot,  the  medicine-man,  and  Chiefs 
Standing  Buffalo,  Canada  John,  and  Shoot-at-the-Tree— 
all  ringleaders.  Then  the  rest  of  the  band  will  be  put  on 
a  reservation.  If  the  Jamieson  women  are  alive,  and  they 
send  'em  in,  I  won't  hang  the  chiefs." 

"  When'll  the  command  start?  " 

"  Three  hours  after  we  get  an  interpreter.  I've  sent 
word  up  to  Custer  at  Lincoln.  But  the  delay !  Think  what 
it  means  to  those  women !  " 

"  It  was  about  two  women  that  I  wished  to  speak,"  said 
Lounsbury.  He  felt  apologetic,  however,  the  one  danger 
was  so  trifling  beside  the  other. 

Colonel  Cummings  listened.  "  Those  girls  had  better 
come  here,"  he  said,  as  the  storekeeper  finished.  "  Then 
they'd  be  safe  enough.  I  remember  seeing  one  of  'em  the 
day  we  got  back.  She  was  a  fine-looking  young  woman." 

"  There  are  two  arguments  against  their  coming,  sir. 


116  The  Plow-Woman 

For  legal  reasons,  it's  best  they  should  not  vacate  the 
shack  or  leave  the  claim." 

"  I  see." 

"  And,  again,  the  father  is — well,  he's  rather  sore  about 
the  war." 

"You  don't  say!" 

"  So,  if  you  could  give  me  a  couple  of  men  to  take  my 
place  now  and  then  during  the  night — the  situation  is 
temporary,  you  see,  the  father  '11  be  back  in  a  few  days." 

"  There  are  very  strong  reasons  against  my  acting  in 
the  matter.  I'm  here  to  keep  an  eye  on  Indians.  The  set- 
tlers are  expected  to  go  to  the  civil  authorities  when  they 
have  quarrels.  Now,  I'd  like  to  mix  up  with  Shanty  Town, 
for  instance.  Our  guard-room  is  jammed  with  men  who've 
been  drugged  over  there  with  vile  whisky.  Yet  I  can't.  I 
can  only  punish  my  men." 

"  I  know  that's  so." 

"  Of  course,  I  shan't  see  defenceless  women  suffer " 

Lounsbury  was  piqued.  "  Not  altogether  defenceless, 
Colonel.  But  I  can't  stay  at  the  shack " 

"  True,  true.  Why  not  ask  Mrs.  Martin,  Major  Apple- 
ton's  sister,  to  go  over.  Then  you  might  guard  from  the 
barn,  if  they  have  one." 

"  That's  a  splendid  suggestion,  sir.  It  would  solve  the 
difficulty." 

"  I'd  be  glad  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Martin  about  it." 
He  thought  a  moment,  passing  a  hand  over  his  clean- 
shaven face.  "  You'd  have  to  be  relieved  even  then,  John, 
I  should  think." 

"  Not  at  all." 

"  But  you  might.  In  that  case "  He  drew  Louns- 


An  Appeal  to  Headquarters  117 

bury  close,  and  spoke  with  his  lips  to  the  storekeeper's  ear. 
"  But  you  understand,"  he  said  aloud  as  he  concluded, 
"  that  I  know  nothing  about  it.  If  I  hear  of  it,  I  shall 
be  very  displeased,  very." 

Lounsbury  was  wringing  his  hand,  and  ready  to  bolt. 

"  All  the  same,  John,  I  wish  the  civil  authorities  could 
get  at  the  man." 

"  I  wish  so,  too."  He  leaned  over  Jamieson. 

"  Good  luck ! "  said  Colonel  Cunrfffhgs,  going  back  to 
his  maps. 

"  Thank  you." 

And  just  at  that  moment,  as  Lounsbury  swung  round 
on  his  heel,  there  rang  out  from  the  river  a  single  pistol- 
shot.  It  echoed  sharply  against  the  barracks  and  went 
dying  away  upon  the  bluffs. 


CHAPTER    XI 
A    LITTLE    STRATEGY 

FRASER'S  shot  drew  many  eyes  to  the  river.  For, 
in  the  winter  time,  any  occurrence,  however  tri- 
fling, could  get  the  instant  attention  of  the  lonely 
garrison.  Troopers   in    various    stages    of    dress 
came   tumbling   out   upon   the   long   porch   at   barracks; 
others  looked  from  the  many  windows  of  the  big  frame 
structure;  the  washer-women  and  their  hopefuls  blocked 
the  doorways  of  "  Clothes-Pin  Row  " ;  officers  everywhere 
— at  headquarters,  at  the  sutler's,  in  their  homes — and  their 
wives  and  families,  up  and  down  the  "  Line,"  remarked 
the  signal.  But  when  Lounsbury  brought  up  beside  Fraser, 
and  the  two  seemed  to  be  occupying  themselves  with  noth- 
ing in  particular,  the  onlookers  laid  the  shot  to  an  over- 
venturesome  water-rat,  and  so  withdrew  from  their  points 
of  vantage. 

"What  is  it?"  was  the  storekeeper's  first  breathless 
demand. 

The  young  officer,  hands  on  hips,  nodded  straight  ahead. 
"You  see  those  willows  just  below  the  cut?"  he  asked. 
"  Well,  there's  a  queer,  black  bunch  in  '«m." 

"Yes.  Is  it  a  man?" 

"  I  think  so." 

"Moved?" 

"  Not  yet." 

118 


A  Little  Strategy  119 

"  Come  on,  then.  Maybe  he's  aiming  for  the  coulee 
mouth,  so's  to  sneak  up  to  the  Lancasters'  from  behind." 

They  charged  away  across  the  mile  of  ice. 

"  If  it's  Matthews,  why  didn't  he  wing  me  as  I  went 
by,"  panted  Lounsbury. 

"  Look,  look !  "  cried  Fraser.  "  Now,  he's  moving !  " 

They  stopped  to  loosen  their  revolvers,  after  which  they 
started  again,  cautiously. 

The  tops  of  the  willows  were  shaking.  Presently,  they 
spread  outward,  and  the  "  black  bunch  "  lengthened.  Then 
it  emerged,  and  was  resolved  into  a  blanketed  Indian. 

"  Charley ! "  exclaimed  the  officer.  As  he  spoke,  the  out- 
cast, shouldering  a  bundle  of  sticks,  began  to  climb  the 
cut. 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  and  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  Fraser,"  said  Lounsbury,  "  did  you  ever  hear  of  the 
fellow  that  stalked  a  deer  all  day  and  then  found  it  was 
a  speck  on  his  glasses  ?  " 

"  That's  one  on  me,"  admitted  the  lieutenant,  sheep- 
ishly. "  I  knew  nobody  had  come  out  of  that  door — but 
you  see  we  were  in  the  stable  a  while." 

"  '  Charley,' — that  squaw  Indian  they  told  me  about, 
eh?  Pretty  good  to  them." 

"  Yes.  From  what  I  understand,  they're  pretty  good  to 
him." 

They  followed  leisurely,  and  took  up  a  stand  in  the  cot- 
tonwoods  above  the  landing  to  discuss  the  situation.  At  the 
very  outset,  Lounsbury  determined  not  to  speak  of  the  plan 
that  included  Mrs.  Martin's  aid,  the  rebuff  he  had  suffered 
from  the  section-boss  having  decided  him  against  it. 

"  By  George ! "  he  said  regretfully,  "  I  wish  when  I 


120  The  Plow-Woman 

had  Matthews  covered  that  I'd  just  marched  him  up  the 
coulee  and  on  to  Clark's." 

"  Good  idea ;  too  bad  you  didn't." 

"  But  I'll  tell  you  this :  I'm  not  going  to  stay  out  here 
all  night  just  to  shoo  him  off.  I've  a  good  mind  to  happen 
in  down  there,  sort  him  out,  and  do  the  marching  act 
anyhow." 

"  Now,  look  here,"  reminded  Fraser ;  "  that  wouldn't 
do.  You  don't  want  to  kill  Matthews,  and  you  don't  want 
to  be  killed.  It  'd  be  one  or  the  other  if  you  poked  your 
nose  in  there." 

"  What  do  you  advise?  " 

"  Lie  low  till  you  see  a  good  opportunity.  I  think  the 
chap  '11  come  out." 

"  But  suppose  he  doesn't  ?  " 

"You'll  have  to  stay  here,  that's  all.  I'll  divide  the 
watch  with  you." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  like  to  ask  you  to  do  that,  old  man.  We 
ought  to  be  able  to  think  up  some  kind  of  a  scheme." 

The  sun  was  fast  declining.  Soon  it  disappeared  behind 
the  river-bluffs,  when  the  boom  of  the  evening-gun  swelled 
the  last  note  of  "  retreat." 

Fraser  sighed.  The  trumpet  had  suggested  a  certain 
dire  possibility. 

"  I  don't  care  for  the  cold,"  he  declared,  "  but— but  "— 
ruefully — "  do  you  suppose  the  K.  O.  '11  give  me  more 
than  a  month  in  quarters  for  this?  There's  that  dance  at 
the  Major's  next  week;  I'd  like  awfully  to  go.  If  I'm 
under  arrest,  I  can't.  And  who'll  feed  my  horse  and  my 
rattlesnakes ! " 

"  Some  sassy  sergeant  '11  shoot  your  fiend  of  a  nag," 


A  Little  Strategy  121 

said  the  storekeeper,  "  and  the  rattlers  '11  be  requested  to 
devour  one  another.  When  that's  over,  I'll  break  it  gently 
to  you  (and  you  must  be  mum)  that  the  K.  O.  is  disciplin- 
ing you  simply  to  keep  his  face.  He  knows — suggested  it 
himself — that  I'm  to  be  helped  out  by  some  of  you  fellows." 

"Well,  that's  better!"  returned  Fraser,  relieved.  And 
while  they  walked  back  and  forth,  he  launched  into  a  de- 
fence of  his  pets. 

"  « Fiend  of  a  nag,'  "  he  quoted.  "  Why,  Buckskin's  a 
tactician ;  knows  what  the  trumpet  says  better  than  I  do." 

Night  settled  swiftly.  Despite  Lounsbury's  prophecy, 
the  temperature  was  not  unbearable.  The  wind  died  with 
the  glow  in  the  west,  leaving  the  air  so  still  that,  to  the 
watchers  among  the  trees,  sounds  from  Brannon  mingled 
distinctly  with  the  near  laughter  and  talk  of  Shanty  Town. 
No  moon  rose.  Only  a  few  stars  burned  their  faint  way 
through  the  quickly  hidden  rents  of  the  sheltering  cloud- 
covering  that,  knitting  here,  breaking  there,  again,  over- 
lapping in  soft  folds  before  an  urgent  sky  breeze,  swagged 
low  above  the  ground. 

With  darkness,  the  two  left  the  grove  for  the  ledge  upon 
which  was  Shanty  Town,  and  stationed  themselves  where 
they  could  still  see  whoever  went  in  or  out  of  The 
Trooper's  Delight.  Matthews  did  not  appear.  Numerous 
men  in  uniform  did.  They  made  noisy  exits,  and  went 
brawling  along  to  other  shanties ;  they  skulked  out  of  the 
willows,  flitted  across  the  bit  of  snow-crusted  beach  below 
the  saloons,  and  scrambled  up  to  hurry  in. 

When  two  hours  or  more  had  gone  by,  the  storekeeper 
grew  impatient.  He  walked  back  and  halted  in  the  inky 
shadow  of  the  wall  down  which  Nick  Matthews  had  tobog- 


122  The  Plow-Woman 

ganed.  From  there,  he  pointed  to  a  shaft  of  light  that 
was  falling  upon  the  north  side  of  the  second  shanty  in 
the  street.  It  was  from  an  uncurtained,  south  opening  in 
the  first. 

"You  see  that?  "  asked  Lounsbury.  "Well,  I'm  going 
over  there  to  look  in.  How  do  we  know  he  hasn't  given  us 
the  slip,  someway  ?  " 

"  Let's  be  careful,"  said  the  lieutenant.  "  A  proper 
amount  of  caution  isn't  cowardice.  If  you're  seen,  the 
whole  pack  '11  set  on  you." 

"  I  will  be  careful,  but  I'm  not  going  to " 

"  That's  all  very  nice,  only  you  must  consider  the  stripe 
of  man  you're  dealing  with " 

"  I  can  roll  a  gun,  Fraser." 

"  But,  Jupiter !  This  chap  isn't  going  to  fight  you  in 
the  open.  He'll  use  Indian  tactics — fact  is,  he  was  raised 
among  'em." 

"  What's  that?  "  asked  Lounsbury. 

"  Raised  among  'em,  I  said — with  the  Sioux." 

"  Speaks  the  tongue,  then  ? "  For  some  reason,  the 
storekeeper  seemed  strangely  agitated^ 

"  Why,  yes." 

At  that,  Lounsbury  was  off,  making  straight  for  the 
entrance  of  the  building  they  had  been  watching. 

Fraser  went  tearing  after,  and  not  far  from  the  door 
managed  to  stop  him. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake ! "  he  gasped.  "  What's  struck 
you?" 

"  Fraser,"  said  Lounsbury,  "  did  you  hear  that  the 
Colonel  wanted  an  interpreter?  " 

"  Why— why— great  Scott !  " 


A  Little  Strategy  123 

"  Exactly— great  Scott!"  The  storekeeper  set  off 
again. 

"  Hold  on."  Fraser  caught  his  arm.  "  Your  scheme's 
all  right,  but  you  can't  impress  the  man.  He's  got  to  go 
of  his  own  accord." 

"  Hm !  that's  so." 

"  What  you  suppose  he'll  say  if  you  rush  in  there  and 
ask  him  to  please  go  away  on  this  long  trip  and  leave  your 
friends  serenely  in  possession  of  the  land?  " 

"  I  wouldn't  say  '  please ' — but  you're  right.  Let's  take 
a  look  through  that  window." 

Fraser  assented.  Shoulder  to  shoulder,  they  tiptoed 
forward  and,  keeping  out  of  the  shaft  of  light,  viewed  the 
scene  within. 

It  was  a  busy  one,  and  well  bore  out  the  inviting  legend 
of  the  shingle  sign.  Along  the  plank  bar,  "  the  troopers  " 
were  thickly  ranged,  smacking  their  lips  in  "  delight  "  over 
greasy  glasses.  Beyond  them  was  a  squint-eyed  man  who 
trotted  untiringly  to  and  fro,  mixing  and  pouring.  Nearer 
was  the  stove,  its  angular  barrel  and  widespread  legs  giv- 
ing it  the  appearance  of  some  horrid,  fire-belching  animal. 

An  unbroken  circle  of  men  surrounded  it,  hats  on,  raw- 
hide-bottomed chairs  tilted  back  to  an  easy  slant.  From 
their  pipes  and  cigars  smoke  rose  steadily  and  hung,  a 
blue  mist,  against  the  sloping  rafters  of  the  roof. 

There  was  little  talking  in  the  circle.  Two  or  three  were 
asleep,  their  heads  sagging  on  their  necks  with  maudlin 
looseness.  The  others  •  spoke  infrequently,  but  often  let 
down  their  chairs  while  they  spat  in  the  sand-box  under 
the  stove,  or  screwed  about  in  the  direction  of  the  gaming- 
table. Among  these  was  Old  Michael.  He  sat  nearest  the 


124  The  Plow-Woman 

door,  a  checkerboard  balanced  on  his  knees,  his  black  stub 
pipe  in  its  toothy  vise.  And  when  he  was  not  feeding  the 
stove's  flaming  maw  with  broken  boxes,  barrel-staves  and 
green  wood,  his  blowzy  countenance  was  suspended 
over  the  pasteboards  he  was  thumbing  in  a  game  of  soli- 
taire. 

The  two  outside  went  under  the  shaft  of  light  and 
peeped  into  the  rear  of  the  room.  There  was  Matthews, 
one  of  five  at  a  square  table.  A  cigar-box  partly  filled  with 
coin  and  chips  was  before  him.  In  front  of  the  other 
players  were  other  chip-piles.  About  the  five,  hanging  over 
them,  almost  pressing  upon  them,  were  a  number  of  troop- 
ers. Two  or  three  were  idle  onlookers.  But  the  majority 
were  following  with  excited  interest  every  turn  of  the 
cards. 

"  Wretches  being  plucked  of  their  good  six  months' 
pay,"  whispered  Fraser. 

"  Looks  like  they're  in  for  all  night,"  Lounsbury 
returned. 

But  the  officer  was  pinching  him.  "  Sh !  See  there !  " 

A  half-drunken  trooper  was  interrupting  the  game.  He 
had  reeled  forward  to  the  table,  and  seemed  to  be  address- 
ing himself  to  Matthews,  who,  as  he  answered,  glanced  up 
indifferently.  The  trooper  continued,  emphasising  his 
words  by  raising  a  clenched  fist  and  striking  the  board  a 
blow. 

The  chip-piles  toppled.  He  turned  to  those  about,  gestic- 
ulating. A  few  surrounded  him,  evidently  bent  on  leading 
him  toward  the  door.  Others  appeared  to  be  continuing 
the  dispute  with  Matthews.  But  as  the  disturber  was 
pushed  out,  they  gradually  subsided. 


A  Little  Strategy  125 

"  I've  got  an  idea,"  announced  the  storekeeper.  And  he 
disappeared  around  a  corner. 

When  he  returned  he  was  leading  the  trooper  and  talk- 
ing low  to  him.  All  three  retired  to  th<*  shadow  of  the 
wall. 

Here  there  was  a  colloquy.  First,  Lounsbury  held  forth ; 
next,  the  trooper,  protestingly.  When  the  lieutenant  broke 
in,  two  phrases  were  frequently  repeated — "  to  the  guard- 
house," and  "  won't  if  you  will." 

At  last  the  three  went  back  to  the  window. 

"  Remember,"  cautioned  the  storekeeper,  "  we  don't  want 
all  these  shebangs  stirred  up." 

"  Needn't  worry,"  said  Fraser.  "  Just  listen  to  that 
rumpus  down  street." 

The  disjointed  music  of  a  wheezy  accordion  was  rending 
the  night.  With  it  sounded  the  regular  stamp  of  feet. 

Now,  the  trooper  rounded  the  corner.  A  moment  and, 
through  the  window,  Lounsbury  and  the  officer  saw  him 
enter  the  door. 

He  slipped  down  to  a  seat  beside  Old  Michael.  There  he 
stayed  for  a  while.  Whenever  a  brother  trooper  looked  his 
way,  he  called  him  up  by  the  crooking  of  a  finger  and 
whispered  to  him.  Before  long  a  knot  of  men  had  again 
surrounded  him.  But  this  time  their  attention  was  all  for 
the  table  at  the  rear  of  the  room. 

There  the  game  was  going  on.  Matthews'  chip-pile 
showed  where  the  winnings  were  gravitating.  In  the  dim 
light  there  was  a  strained  look  on  the  faces  of  the  players. 

Deal  after  deal  passed.  Finally,  one  of  the  five,  having 
no  more  disks  before  him,  pushed  back  his  chair  and 
got  up. 


126  The  Plow-Woman 

As  he  stood,  dazed  and  dismayed,  the  trooper  who  had 
been  ejected  appeared  at  his  side,  clapped  him  upon  the 
back  and  spoke.  At  their  elbows  was  the  knot  that  had 
gathered  at  the  stove. 

The  next  moment  the  trooper  turned  to  the  table  and 
snatched  the  pack  of  cards  from  Matthews'  hand.  He  held 
up  one,  pointing  at  its  back ;  snapped  it  down ;  pointed  at 
a  second^  then  scattered  the  pack  in  the  air. 

Lounslmry  and  Fraser  whipped  round  the  corner  and 
in  through  the  door. 

An  uproar  greeted  them — "  Cheat !  "  "  Clean  him  out !  " 
"Do  him  like  Soggy  did!"  Before  them  was  a  jostle  of 
blue  backs.  Across  these,  on  the  farther  side  of  the  plank 
bar,  they  saw  Matthews,  facing  the  crowd.  His  left  hand 
held  the  cigar-box  against  his  chest,  his  right  was  up  and 
empty. 

"  Hold  on,  boys !  "  It  was  Lounsbury. 

As  if  he  had  caught  a  cue,  the  foremost  trooper — he 
who  had  been  the  disturbing  element — repeated  the  cry, 
and  directed  the  eyes  of  his  comrades  to  the  door. 

There  was  a  sudden  lull.  The  men  in  blue  wavered.  Here 
and  there,  a  revolver  was  covertly  returned  to  place. 

Lounsbury  pushed  forward  to  the  stove,  Fraser  beside 
him.  "  Hold  on,  boys,"  he  said  again,  and  pointed 
at  Matthews ;  "  hold  on — I've  got  a  message  for  that 
man." 

The  lull  became  a  dead  silence.  To  the  troopers,  the 
sight  of  shoulder-straps  was  discomfiting.  For  the  officer 
at  once  became  the  personification  of  the  guard-room, 
chilly,  poorly  bedded,  and  worse  provisioned,  of  all  places 
the  one  to  be  dreaded  in  raw  weather.  To  Matthews,  the 


A  Little  Strategy  127 

interruption  was  welcome.  His  right  hand  slowly  lowered 
to  join  its  mate. 

"  I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  call  your  little  differences 
with  that  gentleman  off,"  continued  Lounsbury. 

Matthews  fairly  blinked.  The  storekeeper's  voice  was 
soft,  confidential,  ingratiating. 

"  Mr.  Fraser  and  I  have  come  to  say  that  Mr.  Matthews 
is  wanted  to  serve  as  interpreter  for  Colonel  Cummings." 

"  Interpreter?  "  queried  Matthews. 

A  bullet-head  made  itself  visible  from  behind  a  barrel. 
"  Don't  let  him  bluff  y',  Nick,"  called  a  voice. 

The  other  looked  round.  "  Shut  y'  fly-trap,  Babe,"  he 
commanded. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Lounsbury,  pleasantly,  "  interpreter 
is  right.  Two  white  women  are  held  as  captives  in  an 
Uncapapa  camp  somewhere  west  of  here.  It's  been  learned 
that  you  understand  and  speak  the  tongue.  So,  we  present 
Colonel  Cummings'  compliments.  He  would  like  very  much 
to  have  a  talk  with  you  at  Brannon." 

It  was  a  solution  to  Matthews.  "Yes?  Yes?"  he  said 
approvingly;  then  hesitated  in  suspicion  as  he  measured 
the  storekeeper. 

"  Oh,  I  guess  I  don't  want  to  be  no  interpreter,"  he  said. 

Lounsbury  smiled.  "  Just  as  you  say,  just  as  you  say. 
Boys," — cheerily — "  sorry  if  I  cut  in  at  the  wrong  time. 
Don't  let  us  stop  your  fun.  Mr.  Fraser  is  not  here 
officially" 

A  murmur  ran  around.  The  disturbing  trooper  ad- 
vanced toward  Matthews  aggressively. 

Up  went  Matthews'  hand  again.  "  Jus'  a  minute,"  he 
said. 


128  The  Plow-Woman 

The  trooper  quieted. 

Matthews  turned  to  Fraser,  mustering  an  expression  of 
importance. 

"  Lieutenant,"  he  said,  "  you  give  me  your  word  this  is 
so — that  there  ain't  no  put-up  job  about  It?  " 

"  Put-up  j  ob  ?  "  Fraser  reddened,  keeping  a  straight 
face  with  difficulty.  "  I  give  my  word,"  he  said  solemnly, 
"  that  you're  wanted  as  interpreter,  and  that  I'll  conduct 
you  safely  to  headquarters." 

Matthews  put  down  the  cigar-box  and  saluted. 

"  Word  of  an  officer,"  he  said,  "  is  different.  And  if  I 
can  do  anythin' — long  's  it 's  ladies " 

He  reached  to  a  shelf  for  his  hat. 


CHAPTER    XII 
A   CONFESSION 

THAT  night,  after  Squaw  Charley  had  come  and 
gone,  Dallas  returned  from  the  lean-to,  where  she 
had  fed  and  bedded  Simon  and  the  team,  to  find 
Marylyn  lying  before  the  hearth,  her  face  flushed 
and  wet  with  tears.  Instantly,  all  concern,  the  elder  girl 
knelt  beside  her. 

"  Marylyn,"  she  begged,  smoothing  the  soft,  unbraided 
hair   spread   out   upon   the   robe,   "  Marylyn,   what's   the 
matter?" 
A  long  sob. 

"  Why,  dear  baby,  don't  you  fret.  We're  going  to  be 
all  right.  Dad  '11  soon  be  back,  Mr.  Lounsbury's  watching, 
and  we  won't  lose  the  little  home." 

"  Oh,  it  ain't  that,  it  ain't  that,"  weeping  harder  than 
before ;  "  I'm  so  unhappy !  " 

It  was  an  answer  that  smote  Dallas  to  the  heart.  Some 
trouble,  heretofore  concealed,  was  threatening  her  sister's 
peace  of  mind.   And  she  had  not  discovered  it  in  time, 
had  not  prevented  it,  had  not  shielded  her  as  she  ought. 
"  Marylyn,  honey,  tell  me  what's  the  matter." 
The  younger  girl  crept  closer,  screening  her  eyes. 
Dallas  lifted  her  into  her  arms.  Her  cheek  was  fever- 
ish, her  hands  were  dry  and  hot. 

129 


130  The  Plow-Woman 

Sudden  terror  seized  the  elder  girl — the  old  terror  that 
had  fastened  upon  her  through  all  the  years  of  her  mother's 
failing. 

"  Marylyn,"  she  said  huskily,  "  do  you  feel  that — that 
you're  not  as  well  as  you  was?  are  you  afraid  you'll  be 
sick  like — mother?  " 

There  was  an  answering  shake  of  the  head. 

Dallas  pressed  her  close,  murmuring  her  thankfulness, 
whispering  broken  endearments.  "  Oh,  Dai's  is  so  glad ! 
She  couldn't  stand  it  if  her  baby  sister  was  to  suffer.  Oh, 
honey -heart !  honey-heart !  " 

But  Marylyn  was  not  comforted. 

"  Listen,"  bade  Dallas.  "  In  all  your  life  have  you  ever 
asked  me  to  do  anything  that  I  didn't  do?  or  to  give  you 
anything  that  I  didn't  give  you  if  I  could?  And  now 
something's  fretting  you.  I  can't  think  what  it  is.  But 
you  got  to  tell  me,  and  I'll  help  you  out." 

"  No,  no !  " 

"  I  don't  care  what  it  is,  I  won't  blame  you ;  if  it's  some- 
thing wrong, — why,  it  couldn't  be, — I'll  forgive  you.  You 
know  that,  Marylyn." 

Again,  "  No,  no,"  but  with  less  resistence. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Dallas,  firmly. 

Marylyn  looked  up.  "  You'll  hate  me  if  I  do,"  she 
faltered. 

The  elder  girl  laughed  fondly.  "  As  if  I  could !  " 

"  You  promise  not  to  tell  pa?  " 

"  Course,  I  promise." 

"  Oh,  Dallas  !  "  She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  "  It's 
—it's  that  I— I  like  him !  /  like  him!  " 

A  moment  of  perplexity.  Then,  gradually,  it  dawned 


A  Confession  131 

upon  the  elder  girl  whom  the  other  meant.  In  very  sur- 
prise her  arms  loosened  their  hold. 

"  You  do  hate  me,"  Marylyn  said  plaintively. 

"  No,  honey,  no — why  should  I  hate  you  ?  "  Her  words 
were  earnest.  But  her  voice — something  had  changed  it. 
And  she  felt  a  strange  hurt,  a  vague  hurt  that  seemed  to 
have  no  cause. 

Marylyn  raised  herself  on  an  elbow.  "  He  liked  me — 
once,"  she  said.  "  He  showed  it,  just  as  plain.  It  was  right 
here,  that  day  the  cattle  went  by." 

Dallas  got  up.  She  had  begun  to  tremble  visibly ; 
her  breath  was  coming  short,  as  if  she  had  been  run- 
ning. 

But  the  younger  girl  did  not  notice.  "  He  stayed  away 
so  long,"  she  went  on.  "  Then,  to-day  when  he  came — you 
remember,  Dallas, — he  just  said  a  word  or  two  to  me,  and 
laughed  at  me  because  I  was  afraid.  And — and  I  saw  that 
I  was  wrong,  and  I — I  saw — he  liked — you" 

"  Me!  "  Dallas  turned.  She  felt  the  blood  come  driving 
into  her  face.  She  felt  that  strange  hurt  ease — and  go  in 
a  rush  of  joyful  feeling.  Then,  she  understood  the  cause 
of  it — and  why  she  had  trembled — why  that  day  had  been 
the  happiest  of  her  life. 

Of  a  sudden  she  became  conscious  that  Marylyn's  eyes 
were  upon  her  with  a  look  of  pathetic  reproach.  She  began 
to  laugh. 

"  Nonsense !  honey,"  she  said.  "  Don't  be  silly !  Me ! 
Why,  he'd  never  like  a  great  big  gawk  like  me !  " 

"  But— but " 

"  Me,  with  my  red  hair — you  know  it  is  kinda  red — 
and  my  face,  sunburned  as  a'  Indian — hands  all  calloused 


132  The  Plow-Woman 

like — like  a  man's."  She  turned  back  to  the  dusk  through 
the  window.  "  Oh,  no,  not  me." 

"  But  you  looked  so  funny  just  now." 

"Did  I?  Did  I?"  Dallas  stammered  out  her  reason: 
"  Well — well,  that  was  because — because  I  thought  you 
was  going  to  say  it  was  a  soldier."  She  laughed — nerv- 
ously. "  But  it  was  Mr.  Lounsbury  you  meant,  honey, 
wasn't  it?" 

The  suspicion  that  had  troubled  the  mind  of  the  younger 
girl  was  allayed.  "  Why,  Dallas,  how  could  you  think  such 
a  thing  about  me!  Like  a  soldier?  My,  no!  It  was  Mr. 
Lounsbury — but  he  don't  like  me." 

She  got  up  and  went  to  the  foot  of  her  father's  bunk. 
When  she  reappeared,  she  was  carrying  the  soap-box  that 
held  her  belongings.  On  the  robe  once  more,  she  took  out 
and  held  up  to  the  light  of  the  fire  two  books  and  a  strip  of 
beaded  cloth. 

The  elder  left  the  window  and  stood  beside  her. 

"  These  are  what  he  gave  me,"  went  on  Marylyn,  put- 
ting forward  the  books.  "  And  this  " — she  showed  the 
beadwork — "  he  asked  me  to  make  for  him.  But  to-day," 
mournfully,  "  he  didn't  even  speak  of  it." 

Dallas  leaned  down  and  touched  her  lips  to  the  other's 
hair.  "  Baby  sister,  what  did  you  expect  him  to  do?  Hold 
up  a  man  with  one  hand  and — and  reach  out  for  a  present 
with  the  other?  " 

Marylyn  put  away  the  box.  "  Anyway,  he  don't  like 
me." 

"Like  you?  Why,  he  couldn't  help  it.  There  isn't  a 
sweeter,  prettier  girl  on  the  prairies  than  my  little  house- 
keeper." 


A  Confession  133 

"  He  called  me  the  prairie  princess,"  declared  Marylyn, 
but  with  lingering  doubt. 

"  Now,  that  shows,"  said  the  elder  girl.  "  Don't  you 
worry  another  second.  When  he  comes  again,  you'll  see." 

So  Dallas  soothed  and  comforted  her  until  she  fell 
asleep,  when  she  lifted  her  to  her  father's  bed  and  covered 
her  carefully.  Then  she  drew  aside  a  swinging  blanket 
to  let  the  firelight  shine  through — and  saw  that  there  were 
still  tears  on  her  sister's  face. 


CHAPTER    XIII 
A    PROPOSAL   AND    A    PROMISE 

THE  medicine  lodge  of  the  Indians  stood  just  within 
the  sliding-panel  of  the  stockade.  Thirty  poles, 
their  tops  lashed  together  so  as  to  leave  a  smoke- 
hole,  their  bases  spread  to  form  a  generous 
circle,  supported  a  covering  of  tanned  buffalo  hides  seamed 
with  buckskin  thongs.  Here,  barely  an  hour  after  Mat- 
thews' arrival  at  Fort  Brannon,  Squaw  Charley  entered 
hastily  and  thrust  some  red  coals  under  a  stick-pile  at  the 
centre  of  the  lodge.  And  at  once,  by  the  flickering  light 
of  his  fire,  the  warriors  of  the  band  entered  the  low  entrance 
and  seated  themselves  in  a  semicircle. 

When  Colonel  Cummings  learned  that  an  interpreter  had 
been  found,  he  promptly  ordered  the  completion  of  prepa- 
rations for  the  Jamieson  expedition,  and  the  calling  of  a 
council,  unsatisfactory,  but  necessary.  The  redskins  jailed 
in  the  stockade  must  know  both  the  object  of  the  trip  and 
his  terms,  so  that  they,  realising  their  peril,  would  reveal 
the  whereabouts  of  the  winter  camp  of  the  hostiles. 

His  interview  with  Matthews  threatened  a  change  in  his 
plans.  The  latter,  having  listened  to  the  story  of  the 
captured  women  and  to  the  scheme  for  their  rescue,  as- 
tonished the  commanding  officer  by  declining  absolutely 
to  take  the  proposed  journey. 

"  I'd  like  t'  be  obligin',"  he  said,  "  but  I  can't  go.  I 

134 


A  Proposal  and  a  Promise  135 

didn't  know  there  was  goin'  t'  be  any  'travellin'.  There's 
business  that  '11  keep  me  here." 

"  Why,  man ! "  cried  the  colonel,  "  I've  made  you  a 
good  offer." 

"  I  ain't  a-sayin'  y'  didn't,"  was  the  curt  answer. 

Colonel  Cummings  knew  to  what  "  business  "  he  referred ; 
but  realised  that  a  discussion  of  it  would  not  aid  in  bring- 
ing the  desired  consent.  He  pretended  to  guess  at  reasons 
for  the  refusal. 

"  There's  scarcely  a  possibility  of  trouble  during  the 
journey,"  he  said.  "Indians  don't  like  to  fight  in  the 
snow,  especially  when  their  families  are  with  them  and 
their  war-ponies  are  feeding  on  cottonwood  bark.  Besides, 
their  head  chief  will  be  sharp  enough  to  see  that  he'll  have 
to  treat  and  not  fight  if  he  wants  to  save  the  necks  of  his 
favourites.  Then,  as  far  as  the  safety  and  comfort  of  my 
men  are  concerned,  everything  is  being  done.  Better  re- 
consider, Matthews." 

"  Can't  do  it." 

Colonel  Cummings  left  his  library,  where  he  had  been 
talking,  and  sought  Lounsbury's  advice.  The  two  held  a 
short,  whispered  conversation  in  the  entry. 

"  Let  me  have  a  few  words  with  him,"  said  the  store- 
keeper. Matthews'  balking  was  not  altogether  a  surprise. 
Nevertheless,  it  was  a  keen  disappointment.  He  had  hoped 
to  be  able  to  send  Squaw  Charley  across  the  river  soon  with 
good  news.  "  Let  me  see  him.  Maybe  I  can  bring  him 
around." 

They  entered  the  library. 

"  Matthews,"  began  Lounsbury,  "  you  might  as  well  go 
along.  If  you  stay,  you  can't  get  a  hold  o'  that  claim." 


136  The  Plow-Woman 

He  looked  at  the  colonel's  clock.  "  It's  midnight.  Your 
six  months  are  up.  If  you  did  have  a  chance?  it's  gone. 
Possession  's  nine  points  in  laws  and  Lancaster  's  up  at 
Bismarck  nailing  the  tenth." 

If  the  storekeeper's  blunt  assertions  were  of  any  partic- 
ular interest  to  the  other,  he  failed  to  show  it.  He  occu- 
pied himself  with  finding  a  cigar,  cutting  it  carefully,  and 
lighting  it  at  the  stove.  Then  he  turned  about  to  Colonel 
Cummings,  his  glance,  as  it  travelled,  utterly  ignoring 
Lounsbury. 

"  Not  to  mention  the  risks  you  run  with  the  boys,"  added 
the  storekeeper  easily,  amused  by  the  play  of  indifference. 

"  Oh,  I  guess  Shanty  Town  can  take  keer  of  itself," 
observed  Matthews,  sending  up  smoke  rings. 

Lounsbury  walked  out. 

There  was  but  one  thing  left  for  Colonel  Cummings  to 
do :  Ask  this  man  to  interpret  in  the  Medicine  Lodge,  that 
at  least  the  Indians  might  learn  their  position.  Knowing  it, 
they  might  be  prevailed  upon  to  select  one  of  their  own 
number  to  accompany  the  expedition  and  repeat  the  terms. 
The  commanding  officer,  rather  provoked  at  Lounsbury, 
who,  he  thought,  had  harmed,  and  not  helped,  his  cause, 
immediately  suggested  this  course  to  Matthews. 

"  I  can  parley-voo  for  you  there,  all  right,"  agreed 
Matthews,  patronisingly .  "  But  how  you  goin'  ?  " 

"  You  and  I,  alone." 

Matthews  stared.  "  Carry  any  guns?  "  he  asked. 

"  Not  when  I  go  into  the  stockade.  The  Indians  are 
without  weapons.  And  I  like  to  show  them  that  I  trust 
them." 

The  other  laughed.   "  You  go  t'  tell  some  redskins  that 


A  Proposal  and  a  Promise  137 

they  9s  goin'  t'  be  strung  up,  and  y'  don't  take  no  gun. 
Well!  not  for  me,  Colonel!" 

"  Then,  we'll  have  a  guard." 

"  O.  K.  I'm  with  you.'' 

A  scout  who  understood  the  sign  language  was  de- 
spatched to  the  stockade.  And  by  the  time  the  braves  were 
settled  down  before  the  blaze,  Colonel  Cummings,  Matthews, 
and  a  detail  of  armed  men  were  before  the  aperture  of  the 
Medicine  Lodge. 

The  soldiers  waited  outside  the  big  wigwam,  where  they 
made  themselves  comfortable  by  moving  up  and  down. 
Their  commanding  officer  and  the  interpreter  went  in.  At 
their  appearance,  the  warriors  rose  gravely,  shook  hands, 
and  motioned  the  white  men  to  take  seats  upon  a  robe 
placed  at  Lame  Foot's  left  hand.  The  air  in  the  place  was 
already  beginning  to  thicken  with  kinnikinick  and  fire 
smoke;  the  mingled  smell  of  tobacco  and  skins  made  it 
nauseating.  Colonel  Cummings  would  gladly  have  hurried 
his  errand.  But  Indian  etiquette  forbade  haste.  He  was 
forced  to  contain  himself  and  let  the  council  proceed  with 
customary  and  exasperating  slowness. 

The  first  step  was  the  pipe.  A  young  Sioux  applied  a 
burning  splinter  to  a  sandstone  bowl  and  handed  the  long 
stem  to  the  medicine-man.  His  nostrils  filled,  he  gave  the 
pipe  to  Colonel  Cummings,  from  whom,  in  turn,  it  passed 
to  Matthews,  Standing  Buffalo,  Canada  John,  and  thence 
along  the  curving  line  of  warriors.  When  all  had  smoked, 
the  bowl  was  once  more  filled  and  lighted,  and  once  more  it 
was  sent  from  hand  to  hand.  Not  until  this  ceremony 
had  been  repeated  many  times  did  the  council  come  to 
speech. 


138  The  Plow-Woman 

But  neither  the  commanding  officer  nor  his  interpreter 
made  the  first  address.  Though  the  braves  guessed  that 
something  unusual  had  brought  about  an  assembly  at  this 
hour,  and  though  their  curiosity  on  the  subject  was  child- 
ishly live,  they  surpassed  their  captor  in  patience.  Stolidly 
they  looked  on  while  Lame  Foot  rose  to  his  feet. 

The  war-priest  was  not  the  figure  that  had  led  the 
band  south  after  the  battle;  not  the  haughty,  stately 
brave  that  the  sentimentalist  loves  to  picture.  He  was 
feathered  and  streaked  as  before.  A  stone  mallet  hung 
from  his  belt.  But  he  wore  no  string  of  bears'  claws.  They 
had  gone  the  way  of  the  sutler,  which  was  a  tasty  way, 
strewn  with  bright-labelled,  but  aged,  canned  goods.  And 
as  for  his  embroidered  shirt,  it  was  much  soiled  and  worn, 
and  he  had  so  gained  in  weight — through  plentiful  food 
and  lack  of  exercise — that  he  pressed  out  upon  it  deplor- 
ably with  a  bulging  paunch. 

Pompously,  but  using  no  gestures  or  inflections,  he  began 
a  rambling,  lengthy  account  of  his  past  deeds  of  valour. 
From  these  he  finally  swerved  to  the  recital  of  his  people's 
wrongs.  He  climaxed,  after  an  interminable  amount  of 
talking,  with  a  boast  that  awakened  the  hearty  approbation 
of  his  sloven  fellows.  "  We  but  wait  for  the  winter  to  go," 
he  said,  "  for  in  the  spring  we  shall  have  freedom.  Our 
brothers,  who  are  sly  as  foxes  and  swift  as  hawks,  will 
sweep  down  upon  the  pony  soldiers  and  slay  them." 

He  sat  down  amid  a  chorus  of  "  Ho !  Hos !  "  The  semi- 
circle moved  and  bent  and  nodded.  It  was  plain  that  he 
had  expressed  a  common  belief. 

There  was  one  Indian  not  of  the  council  to  whom  his 
words  meant  more  than  freedom.  That  Indian  was  Squaw 


A  Proposal  and  a  Promise  139 

Charley.  A  moment  after  Colonel  Cummings'  arrival,  the 
pariah  had  crept  noiselessly  into  the  lodge  and  lain  down 
in  the  shadows.  From  there,  careful  all  the  while  to  be 
quiet  and  to  keep  himself  well  screened,  he  listened  to  Lame 
Foot.  But  when  the  chief  came  to  his  bragging  conclu- 
sion, Squaw  Charley  forgot  his  own  degradation  for  a 
moment,  and  forgot  to  fear  discovery.  Was  a  battle  indeed 
coming!  New  hope  all  at  once! — the  hope  that  he  would 
have  the  opportunity,  long  desired,  of  getting  away  from 
the  squaws,  the  old  men,  and  the  mocking  children,  and 
going  with  the  warriors.  Once  with  them,  even  in  the  role 
of  cook  or  drudge,  the  chance  might  come  to  do  a  brave 
act,  such  an  act  as  would  reinstate  him.  Perhaps  he  could 
wound  an  enemy,  and  count  coup  upon  him ;  perhaps  he 
could  face  bullets  or  arrows  to  rescue  a  brother — 

His  dull  eyes  glinted  like  cut  beads.  In  very  excitement, 
he  raised  his  bent,  spare  body. 

Hearing  the  movement,  Lame  Foot  glared  round,  and 
his  eyes  fell  upon  the  outcast. 

"  Woo ! "  he  cried.  "  A  squaw  in  the  council-lodge ! 
Woo!" 

There  was  a  general  turning,  and  those  nearest  the 
pariah  made  peremptory  gestures. 

A  second  Charley  stood  uncertainly.  Then  the  look  of 
one  accused  came  into  his  face.  He  tottered  backward, 
through  the  lodge  opening,  and  out  into  the  snow. 

The  council  continued. 

A  dozen  warriors  followed  the  war-priest  in  speech- 
making.  Each  of  them  said  no  more  than  he.  To  Colonel 
Cummings'  disgust,  each  one  said  no  less.  Added  to  the 
tediousness  of  it  all  were  Matthews'  interpretations. 


140  The  Pldw-Woman 

Toward  three  o'clock,  however,  the  prime  object  of  the 
meeting  was  reached. 

When  the  commanding  officer  at  last  rose,  he  was  in  no 
mood  to  mince  matters.  He  used  few  words,  but  they 
were  forcible.  He  asked  the  interpreter  to  repeat  them 
precisely. 

They  had  their  effect.  While  Matthews  was  doing  this, 
the  colonel  did  not  glance  away  from  the  council-fire,  yet 
he  knew  that  in  the  semicircle  there  was  genuine  consterna- 
tion. Grunts,  startled,  angry,  threatening,  ran  up  and 
down  the  line.  Those  warriors  named  for  possible  execu- 
tion alone  were  silent. 

Presently,  one  of  the  others  spoke.  "  If  we  tell  you 
where  to  go,  how  do  we  know  the  white  chief  will  not  fall 
upon  the  winter  camp  of  our  brothers  as  Custer,  The  Long- 
Hair,  fell  upon  Black  Kettle's?  " 

"  I  am  not  going  with  the  pony  soldiers,"  Matthews 
hastened  to  say.  "  Across  the  Muddy  Water,  where  the 
road  passes,  is  a  wide  piece  of  land  which  has  been  stolen 
from  me." 

One  of  the  four  condemned  glanced  up.  It  was  Lame 
Foot.  "  By  The  Plow-Woman?  "  he  asked. 

"  By  her  father.  I  shall  stay  until  that  land  is  mine 
again.  One  of  you  must  ask  your  chief  that  he  give  up  the 
pale-face  squaws." 

Canada  John  answered  him.  "  A  brave  can  but  take  the 
words  of  the  white  chief.  That  is  not  well.  One  of  a 
double  tongue  must  go." 

"  The  white  chief  has  but  one,"  said  Matthews,  and 
tapped  his  own  chest. 

A  silence  followed. 


A  Proposal  and  a  Promise  141 

"  The  journey  begins  when  the  sun  is  little,"  he  added, 
and  sat  down. 

"  Will  not  the  white  chief  wait  until  spring  ?  "  asked 
Lame  Foot,  whose  guile  made  up  for  his  physical 
defect. 

The  others  studied  Colonel  Cummin gs'  face  as  the  ques- 
tion was  put  to  him.  They  saw  the  purpose — postpone- 
ment, which  might  bring  freedom  for  them,  and  also  a 
retention  of  the  captive  women. 

The  colonel's  answer  did  not  need  interpreting.  "  No !  " 
he  said,  and  struck  his  knees  with  his  open  palms. 

"  Why  should  two  squaws  matter  ?  "  asked  Shoot-at-the- 
Tree.  "  Are  there  not  many  everywhere  ?  We  will  give 
the  white  chief  some  of  our  ponies." 

"  Your  ponies  floated,  belly  up,  down  the  river  moons 
ago,"  said  Matthews. 

Twenty  pairs  of  eyes  sparkled  with  hate.  That  was 
news  indeed! 

Lame  Foot  spoke  again.  There  was  a  mathematical 
phase  of  the  terms  which  troubled  him.  "  Why  should  four 
die  for  two?"  he  demanded.  "Among  the  whites,  has  a 
squaw  the  value  of  two  soldiers  ?  " 

Matthews  answered  gravely  that  it  was  so.  The  brave 
snorted  contemptuously. 

Canada  John  shook  his  head.  "  Thus  comes  much  evil 
because  we  shot  the  pinto  buffalo." 

At  that  point,  the  hoof-sheaths  that  trimmed  a  rope  near 
the  entrance  rattled.  The  semicircle  craned  their  necks. 
A  plump  hand  was  pulling  aside  the  flap  of  the  lodge. 
Then,  through  the  low  aperture  and  into  the  light  of  the 
fire  stepped  an  Indian  woman.  She  flung  back  a  head- 


142  The  Plote-Woman 

shawl  and  faced  red  man  and  white.  A  murmur  came  from 
the  braves.  It  was  Brown  Mink. 

As  with  the  men  of  the  band,  plentiful  food  and  no 
exercise  had  worked  wonders  with  her.  She  was  less  slender 
and  more  solid  than  formerly.  Her  full  cheeks  shone  like 
the  bulging  sides  of  a  copper  kettle.  But  her  spirit  was 
little  changed.  She  waited  no  invitation  to  speak.  She 
paused  for  no  words.  In  her  earnestness,  she  leaned  for- 
ward a  little. 

"  Brown  Mink  is  young,"  she  said.  "  She  is  but  an  un- 
fledged crane  walking  in  strange  waters.  But  she  speaks-*" 
with  the  voice  of  her  father,  your  mighty  chief  that  was. 
Canada  John  talks  straight.  One  of  a  double  tongue  must 
go.  The  white  chief  is  very  angry,  so  that  he  plucks  the 
hairs  from  his  hands.  The  squaws  must  be  brought  back, 
or  four  braves  wilLbe  choked  by  ropes.  But  who  can  make 
things  smooth?  Only  The  Double-Tongue.  Promise  him 
much — promise  to  help  him  drive  the  thief  from  his  land." 

Matthews   straightened  up. 

She  put  out  one  arm  and  measured  a  small  length  upon 
it.  "  When  our  warriors  come,  thus  short  a  space  will  it 
take  to  rid  the  land,"  she  said.  And  was  gone  before  any 
could  answer. 

There  was  a  long  "  Ho-o-o !  "  of  assent. 

"What's  this  all  about?  "  asked  Colonel  Cummings. 

"  She  wants  me  t'  go,"  said  Matthews. 

"  Well,  so  do  I." 

The  Indians  conferred  among  themselves.  Suddenly,  as 
if  they  had  reached  a  decision,  they  fell  silent  and  settled 
back.  Lame  Foot  spoke. 

"  In  the  Moon  of  Wild  Strawberries,"  he  said,  "  the 


A  Proposal  and  a  Promise  143 

sun  is  warm  and  the  grass  is  growing."  He  turned  to  the 
interpreter.  "  Ask  our  brothers  to  send  the  women  then, 
and  follow  them.  We  shall  go  free ;  and  as  we  go,  we  shall 
free  the  land." 

"  But  if  your  brothers  cannot  come?  "  said  Matthews. 

Lame  Foot  answered.  "  The  white  chief  will  send  us  to 
Standing  Rock  Agency.  From  there,  braves  will  go  out 
to  hunt — and  arrows  fly  silently.  There  are  some  of  two 
tips.  These  bite  like  the  rattlesnake " 

Matthews  rubbed  his  chin.  He  knew  that  what  Louns- 
bury  had  told  him  in  the  colonel's  library  was  true.  All 
legal  and  moral  claims  to  the  valuable  town  site  across  the 
river  were  gone.  He  could  secure  the  Bend  now  only  by 
underhand  means.  And  here  were  those  who  would  do  what 
he  dared  not. 

"  They  make  a  cunning  wound,"  continued  Lame 
Foot,  "  and  no  one  finds  the  arrow." 

Colonel  Cummings  was  growing  impatient.  "  Interpret, 
interpret,"  he  ordered. 

"  They  think  it's  all  up  with  'em  if  I  dont  go,"  said 
Matthews.  He  looked  down  thoughtfully.  The  trip  would 
be  a  comparatively  short  one,  and  offered  good  reward. 
Whatever  happened,  if  the  Indians  kept  their  word  with 
him,  he  would  have  both  the  pay  and  the  land. 

"  Will  they  tell  me  where  the  camp  is  ?  "  asked  the 
Colonel. 

Matthews  met  his  eye.  "  Ye-e-e-s,"  he  answered.  "  If  I 
go."  He  addressed  the  warriors :  "  If  your  promise  is  a 
promise " 

An  old  chief  caught  his  arm.  "  We  are  not  liars,"  he 
said. 


144  The  Plow-Woman 

"  It  is  a  task  for  a  child,"  added  Lame  Foot. 

"  Enough,"  answered  Matthews.  To  Colonel  Cummings 
he  said,  "  I'm  your  man,  sir." 

"Good!" 

Then  the  interpreter  and  the  Indians,  with  the  command- 
ing officer  unwittingly  taking  a  part,  sealed  their  compact 
in  a  pipe  of  peace. 


CHAPTER    XIV 
ANOTHER    PROMISE 

THE  green  pung  was  ten  miles  or  more  beyond 
Clark's  before  the  section-boss  recovered  appreci- 
ably from  his  long  sulk.  "  What  d'  y'  s'pose 
Lounsbury  reckoned  could  happen  t'  my  gals?  " 
he  demanded  of  David  Bond. 

The  evangelist  shook  the  reins  at  Shadrach.  "  A  storm, 
cold,  want,"  he  replied.  "  There  are  many  evils  that  might 
befall  two  young  women  alone  in  a  shanty  on  the  prairie." 

"  Wai,  nothin'  's  ever  happened  t'  'em  before,"  declared 
Lancaster.  But  he  whistled  to  stay  a  change  in  good 
fortune,  and  rapped  the  wood  of  the  wagon-box  with  his 
bare  knuckles. 

David  Bond  busied  himself  with  urging  on  his  horse. 
"  God  will  watch  over  them,"  he  said  devoutly.  "  '  Behold, 
he  that  keepeth  Israel  shall  neither  slumber  nor  sleep.' ' 

The  section-boss  sniffed.  Sure  of  the  safe  trend  of  his 
affairs,  he  was  in  a  mood  to  scoff  at  any  religious  allusion. 
Reverence,  with  him,  was  entirely  a  matter  of  urgent 
physical  need.  He  had  called  to  his  Maker  but  twice  in  his 
life:  once,  when  an  ugly-tempered  peon  threatened  him 
with  a  spade ;  again,  when,  falling  from  his  swiftly  moving 
flat-car,  he  felt  the  heavy  wheels  grinding  him,  flesh  and 
bone. 

"  Storm  kain't  tech  th'  shack,"  he  said  proudly.  "  She 
's  built  like  a  ship,  t'  stan'  any  win'.  She  's  warm,  too,  an' 

145 


146  The  Plow-Woman 

thet  Injun,  he  brings  us  plenty  of  wood.  An'  they  's  grub 
'nough  t'  las'." 

The  evangelist  was  politely  attentive. 

"  They  's  j  es'  one  man  thet  might  come  botherin'  'em," 
Lancaster  went  on.  "  But  'tain't  likely  he'll  see  these  parts 
before  spring.  An'  Ah  don'  b'lieve  he'll  come  then." 

David  Bond  set  his  brows  together.  The  previous  night 
an  unshaped  thought  had  made  him  pause  a  second  before 
leaving  Dallas.  Now,  that  thought  became  a  suspicion — a 
suspicion  of  the  real  truth.  "  A  man  ?  "  he  said  question- 
ingly ;  "  a  man  ?  " 

Being  thus  prompted  on  the  subject  of  the  claim,  Lan- 
caster was  willing  to  proceed,  for  he  had  no  feeling  that 
he  was  obeying  Dallas.  "  Ah'm  speakin'  of  a  man  thet 
filed  on  my  section  in  July,"  he  said.  "  His  six  months  is 
up  t'-day.  So  Ah  reckon  he'll  hev  t'  work  a  new  piece  of 
track.  For  Ah  inten'  t'  hang  on  t'  thet  quarter — it's  goin' 
t'  be  worth  a  pile." 

The  evangelist  threw  him  a  swift  glance.  "  What  is  the 
name  of  that  man  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Ah  dunno.  Ah  clean  gone  an'  f  'got  it.  Ah  ought  t' 
wrote  it  down " 

"  Would  you  know  it  if  you  heard  it  ?  " 

"  W'y,  yes — 'twas  some  ornery  name." 

"  Was  it— was/it  Matthews?  " 

Complete  bewilderment  spoke  from  Lancaster's  wide- 
open  eyes  and  mouth.  He  whirled  about  upon  the  evangelist 
and  seized  the  reins.  Shadrach  came  to  a  squatting  stop, 
his  ears  turning  round  to  catch  a  command.  "  Thet's  it ! 
Thet's  it ! "  cried  the  section-boss.  "  An'  how  d'  you 
know?" 


Another  Promise  147 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  in  silence.  Lancaster's 
face  was  dark  with  distrust;  David  Bond's,  pale  with 
alarm. 

"  How  ?  "  exclaimed  the  latter,  when  his  tongue  at  last 
answered  his  will;  "how?  Because  Matthews  came  north 
with  me  yesterday !  " 

If  Shadrach  possessed  the  sense  his  master  claimed  for 
him,  he  must  have  concluded  then  and  there  that  the  human 
beings  in  the  pung  had  gone  stark  mad.  For  after  some 
excited  shouting,  the  one  to  the  other,  they  brought  him 
square  about  and  sent  him  scurrying  back  toward  Brannon. 

They  did  not  retrace  their  way,  but  steered  due  south, 
thus  saving  the  few  miles  that  could  take  them  again 
through  Clark's.  Shadrach  approved  the  change  in  direc- 
tion, which  pointed  to  a  snug  corner  beside  the  friendly 
bull-calf,  and  fairly  skimmed  the  hard  snow.  He  had 
already  gone  forty  long  miles  since  morning.  Yet,  un- 
daunted, he  took  up  the  return  with  good  zest,  holding  a 
smart  pace  unwearily.  He  breathed  deep,  and  his  long 
Roman  nose — thrust  out  on  a  line  with  his  rocking  back — 
smoked  like  an  eager  charger's. 

In  the  first  half -hour  that  followed  the  evangelist's  dis- 
quieting admission,  he  listened  to  a  wild,  profane  tirade: 
against  himself,  for  having  failed  to  speak  of  Matthews ; 
against  Dallas,  for  being  in  such  a  tarnal  hurry ;  against 
Lounsbury  on  general  principles.  The  section  boss  found 
only  one  person  wholly  exempt  from  blame — himself.  So 
he  cursed,  he  threatened,  he  wrung  his  hands,  he  grabbed 
a  crutch,  and,  leaning  forward,  poked  the  straining  flanks 
of  the  white  horse. 

"  Gentle,  gentle,"  admonished  David  Bond.  "  He  goes 


148  The  Plow-Woman 

fastest  who  goes  steadily.  I  have  driven  Shadrach  ninety 
miles  in  twenty-two  hours.  And  if  we  are  patient  with 
ihim  now,  he  will  get  us  home  by  reveille." 

But  Lancaster  only  groaned  ungratefully  and  continued 
to  ply  the  crutch. 

On  they  went.  As  the  short  day  ended  and  darkness 
came,  they  steered  farther  to  the  left,  for  there  was  a 
possible  danger  of  pitching  over  the  river-bank.  When 
they  approached  the  coulee,  the  same  peril  again  met  them. 
Shadrach,  however,  insured  them  against  accident.  He 
struck  his  own  trail,  and  knew  it.  At  once,  he  quickened 
his  speed,  pulling  the  reins  taut.  Behind  him,  his  master, 
though  utterly  wearied,  kept  awake  to  watch  their  course 
and  commend  him  kindly.  Not  so  the  section-boss.  His 
anger  finally  spent,  he  put  up  his  crutch  and  made  himself 
comfortable.  Then,  swaying  as  the  pung  swayed,  he  slept. 

Far  away  at  Fort  Brannon  the  council  was  at  an  end. 
Lanterns  were  whisking  to  and  fro  like  giant  lightning- 
bugs  about  the  long  garrison  granary  and  the  quarter- 
master and  commissary  storehouse,  where  wagons  were 
being  loaded  with  tents,  ammunition,  rations,  and  forage — 
enough  for  sixty  days.  The  library  window  at  headquarters 
was  bright :  Colonel  Cummings  and  a  surgeon  were  respec- 
tively commanding  and  persuading  young  Jamieson  to 
await  his  mother  and  sister  at  the  post.  Nick  Matthews, 
attended  by  a  watchful  sergeant,  was  having  his  hair  cut 
by  the  citizen  barber.  While  Lounsbury,  too  joyfully  ex- 
cited to  sleep,  was  in  the  sutler's  billiard-room,  giving 
Fraser,  who  was  about  to  depart  with  the  expedition,  a 
sympathetic  history  of  the  Lancasters — a  history  in  which 
Marylyn  was  shrewdly  made  the  dainty  central  figure. 


Another  Promise  149 

At  five  o'clock,  everything  being  in  readiness,  a  livelier 
activity  prevailed.  The  outgoing  troop  was  routed  from 
bed  and  fortified  with  a  hot  breakfast.  By  six,  "  boots  and 
saddles  "  had  sounded.  And,  soon,  the  detachment — pro- 
tected from  the  cold  by  blanket-coats,  and  with  black 
cutties  burning  down  the  whole  length  of  its  double  line — 
was  leading  the  wagon-train  at  a  good  jog  toward  the 
west. 

The  men  went  gladly,  accepting  the  long  ride  as  a 
welcome  relief  to  the  stagnation  of  a  garrison  winter.  To 
them,  the  possible  dangers  of  the  trip  were  a  mere  matter 
of  course,  though  Guy  V.  Henry's  march  of  a  twelve- 
month before — a  terrible  march  from  Fort  Robinson  into 
the  Black  Hills — was  fresh  in  their  memory.  Captain 
Oliver  commanded,  B  Troop  being  his  own.  He  was  a 
brave  man,  but  one  who  let  his  heart  influence  his  better 
judgment,  who  was  neither  as  acute  as  a  soldier  should  be 
nor  as  cautious.  Yet  his  commanding  officer  selected  him 
for  the  duty — the  choice  insured  his  remaining  behind  when 
the  campaign  of  the  coming  summer  opened ;  when  there 
would  arrive  from  the  "  States  "  a  certain  loyal  little  wife 
and  her  seven  babies. 

An  hour  after  the  cavalry  clattered  out  of  Brannon, 
faithful  Shadrach  limped  home.  The  approach  of  the 
pung  did  not  frighten  Dallas.  For,  long  before  it  crossed 
the  coulee,  as  she  walked  noiselessly  to  and  fro  across  the 
dirt  floor,  she  heard  her  father's  voice  urging  the  white 
horse  on.  She  did  not  understand  the  quick  return,  but 
prepared  for  it  by  building  up  the  fire  and  swinging  the 
coffee-pail  into  place. 

The  old  men  heard  her  story  before  they  stepped  from 


150  .      The  Plow-Woman 

the  sleigh.  The  evangelist,  as  he  listened,  thanked  his 
God  for  Lounsbury.  The  section-boss,  on  the  contrary, 
was  made  so  angry  by  the  recital  of  Matthews'  attack  that 
he  called  down  every  manner  of  punishment  upon  the  latter, 
and  revelled  in  multiple  plans  for  a  sweet  revenge. 

"  Jes'  let  thet  scalawag  call  again,"  he  cried,  shaking  a 
crutch  toward  Shanty  Town.  "  Ah  ain't  much  on  my  laigs 
these  days,  but  Ah'm  right  good  yet  with  my  pistol  arm !  " 

"  Without  His  arm "  began  David  Bond. 

A  wondering  cry  from  Dallas  stopped  him.  He  turned 
to  see  her  pointing  at  the  northern  sky. 

A  strange,  wild  light  was  creeping  up  from  the  horizon 
and  tinting  the  heavens.  A  filmy  veil  was  mounting  the 
zenith,  and  swinging  gently.  Swiftly  the  glory  grew.  The 
veil  became  a  curtain  of  rainbow  colouring,  edged  with 
royal  purple  and  faint  red,  and  lined,  here  with  orange, 
there  with  green,  again  with  delicate  pink. 

Changes  followed.  Green,  gold,  and  blue  lightning 
darted  from  plain  to  sky,  trailing  fainter  colours  that 
danced  elfishly ;  and  the  sheet  of  living  flame  took  form.  It 
became  a  huge  clenched  fist,  resting  upright  upon  the 
lighted  prairie.  About  it,  in  a  sky  made  darker  by  contrast, 
gleamed  the  scattered  stars.  Then,  one  by  one,  quivering 
fingers  of  light  shot  forth  from  the  fist.  Until,  at  length, 
over  the  little  shack  was  outspread,  palm  downward,  a 
shimmering  giant  hand. 

To  the  evangelist,  watching  the  aurora  with  upturned 
face,  the  hand  was  deified.  "  It  is  a  divine  manifestation !  " 
he  whispered  reverently.  "  It  brings  a  message :  '  Thou 
shalt  not  be  afraid  for  the  terror  by  night;  nor  for  the 
arrow  that  ftieth  by  day.9  " 


CHAPTER    XV 
NECESSITY 

WHILE  David  Bond  and  Dallas  were  taking 
Shadrach  from  the  pung,  a  boot  crunched 
the  snow  behind  them.  They  turned.  And 
there  was  Lounsbury,  fairly  bursting  to  tell 
his  good  news. 

When  he  had  told  it,  he  was  anxious  to  get  away  again, 
for  by  a  quick  retreat  the  two  girls  might  be  saved  the 
knowledge  of  the  Clark  episode,  and  he,  a  very  probable 
second  insult.  But  the  evangelist,  having  no  wish  to  tattle 
about  Lancaster,  yet  hoping  that  the  elder  girl  would 
learn  what  her  father  had  done  and  administer  a  deserved 
rebuke,  urged  him  in. 

The  storekeeper  did  not  consent  to  enter  the  shack,  how- 
ever, until  Dallas  added  her  invitation ;  and  then  he  went 
reluctantly.  He  was  accustomed  to  courtesy  there  on  the 
frontier.  The  plains-bred  men  that  he  knew  instinctively 
took  him  at  his  real  valuation,  and  treated  him  accord- 
ingly; the  men  of  a  more  conventional  strata  (the  profes- 
sional men  of  Bismarck,  and  those  who  officered  at  the  posts 
up  and  down  the  river)  freely  bestowed  their  friendship 
upon  him;  the  lawless  element  respected  him,  too,  and 
showed  that  respect  by  letting  him  severely  alone.  He 
shrank  from  placing  himself  where  a  man  like  Lancaster — 
crippled,  old,  and  therefore  beyond  disciplining — could 

151 


152  The  Plow-Woman 

have  the  chance  to  repeat  an  affront.  And  he  shrank  at  the 
thought  of  a  clash — it  meant  pain  for  two  helpless  women. 
Nevertheless,  he  yielded. 

The  streamers  were  gone  from  the  sky  by  then.  They  had 
faded  as  quickly  as  they  had  come.  Once  more,  under  a 
dome  of  cobalt,  the  river  flowed  black  between  its  fringe 
of  trees,  and  the  prairie  stretched  white  and  still. 

A  bright  fire  and  a  singing  coffee-pail  welcomed  the 
three  as  the  door  swung  wide,  and  the  section-boss,  who  was 
urging  Marylyn  to  "  rustle  some  grub,"  turned  with  a 
testy  word.  But  he  fell  silent  when  he  saw  Lounsbury,  and 
edged  into  the  dusky  shelter  of  the  hearth-side. 

The  storekeeper  nodded  to  him,  shook  hands  absently 
with  the  younger  girl,  and  took  a  bench.  His  face  looked 
less  full  than  usual,  and  was  lighted  by  no  hearty 
smiles. 

Little  was  said  until  breakfast  was  ready — a  quick 
breakfast  of  bacon,  pone,  and  coffee.  The  three  men 
warmed  themselves.  The  girls  moved  between  fireplace  and 
table.  But  when  the  plates  were  set  and  the  coffee  poured, 
David  Bond  asked  for  the  story  of  Matthews'  doings,  of 
the  affair  at  the  saloon,  the  meeting  with  Colonel  Cum- 
mings,  and  the  council.  Dallas  and  Marylyn  heard  it  from 
where  they  stood  together  before  the  blaze.  Lancaster 
heard  it, — though  he  pretended  not  to, — eating  and  drink- 
ing the  while  with  angry  smacks. 

Lounsbury  paid  no  attention  to  the  section-boss.  In 
fact,  before  his  recital  was  done,  he  had  forgotten  him. 
He  talked  quietly  and  without  boasting,  his  face  now 
turned  to  David  Bond,  now  to  the  girls. 

"  And  you  think,"  said  the  evangelist,  when  the  story 


Necessity  153 

was  finished,  "  you  think  that  Matthews  will  drop  his 
claim  to  the  Bend?  " 

Lounsbury  arose,  as  if  to  go,  and  for  the  first  time 
since  his  entrance  looked  squarely  at  Lancaster.  "  This 
is  what  I  think :  "  he  answered,  "  in  Dakota,  if  a  man  jumps 
land  that  hasn't  been  improved,  all  he's  got  to  do  is  to 
hang  on  to  it ;  don't  have  to  rassle  with  any  fine  points  of 
law.  This  far  west  of  stuffed  chairs,  there's  a  whole  lot 
in  public  sentiment."  He  crossed  the  room  and  picked  up 
coat  and  cap. 

"  Of  course,"  added  David  Bond,  "  following  the  law 
would  strengthen  the  case." 

"Of  course." 

The  section-boss  adjusted  his  crutches  and  stood  up. 
"  You-all  seem  t'  be  settlin'  it  'thout  any  o'  my  lip,"  he 
said,  and  laughed  mockingly. 

"We  have  your  interests  at  heart,"  replied  the  store- 
keeper. 

Lancaster  ground  his  teeth.  Now  that  all  danger  was 
past,  he  felt  no  gratitude  for  the  routing  of  Matthews  and 
the  strategy  at  The  Trooper's  Delight.  He  could  only 
feel  that  his  authority  in  his  own  home  was  threatened. 
He  turned  his  back. 

Lounsbury  glanced  at  the  girls.  They  were  watching 
their  father  appealingly. 

"  I  should  say,"  went  on  Lounsbury,  "  that  we  have  the 
interests  of  your  daughters  at  heart."  His  hand  reached 
for  the  latch. 

"  Mr.  Lounsbury ! "  Dallas  made  a  swift  step  toward 
him. 

Now,  the  section-boss  came  about.  Lounsbury  was  re- 


154  The  Plow-Woman 

minded  of  the  day  on  the  plowed  strip.  For  he  saw  that 
Lancaster  was  all  a-tremble,  and  panting  as  if  spent  with 
a  hard  run.  "  M'  gal !  "  he  cried  sternly. 

Dallas  stepped  back  and  touched  her  father's  arm.  And 
her  remonstrance  was  the  remonstrance  of  that  other  day. 
"  No,  no,  dad,"  she  cautioned  in  a  low  voice ;  "  no, 
no." 

Lancaster's  breast  heaved.  He  swallowed  with  an  effort, 
and  scowled  from  one  to  another  of  the  four. 

David  Bond  came  forward,  addressing  Lounsbury. 
"  Will  you  tell  me  your  name?  "  he  asked.  "  I  want  to 
remember  you.  You  are  not  a  soldier.  Do  you  belong  at 
Clark's " 

"  Did  y'  size  him  up  f er  a  cow-punch  ?  "  broke  in  Lan- 
caster. "  Huh!  Wai,  Ah  never  did." 

Lounsbury's  face  dyed  to  a  deep  scarlet.  "No?"  he 
said.  "And  why?" 

Again  the  section-boss  gave  a  shrill,  mocking  laugh. 
"  Too  fat  an'  too  mouthy,"  he  answered. 

For  an  instant  Lounsbury  wavered.  In  that  instant  the 
deep  scarlet  faded,  his  eyes  opened,  his  nostrils  spread. 

"  Pa !  pa !  "  It  was  Marylyn,  half -weeping. 

Lounsbury's  cool  voice  cleared  the  air.  "  I'm  a  Bismarck 
man,"  he  said  to  the  evangelist.  "  I've  got  a  store  there. 
My  name  is  John  Lounsbury."  He  held  out  his  hand  to 
Dallas. 

She  advanced  again  and  took  it.  "Oh,  thank  you! 
thank  you !  "  she  breathed. 

" '  Bismarck  man.' "  It  was  Lancaster  once  more. 
"  Wai,  w'y  the  devil  don'  y'  stay  thar?  " 

Lounsbury  took  no  notice  of  him.  "  I'll  be  hoofing  it," 


Necessity  155 

he  said  to  Dallas.  "  But  if  I  can  do  anything — you  under- 
stand." And  went  out. 

David  Bond's  keen  eyes  studied  the  elder  girl.  He  ex- 
pected an  outburst  of  anger  and  blame.  He  was  surprised 
when,  without  speaking,  she  brought  the  benches  to  the 
fire  and  set  about  clearing  the  table.  Lancaster  seated  him- 
self and  sucked  moodily  at  his  pipe.  Marylyn  flitted 
behind  him,  to  disappear  through  the  swinging  blankets. 
The  evangelist  walked  up  and  down. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  silence  told  on  the  section- 
boss  and  forced  him  to  talk.  "  Ef  you-all  got  anythin'  t' 
say,"  he  snarled  presently,  "  y'  might  as  well  spit  it  out." 

No  one  answered. 

"  All  got  jes'  this  t'  say:"  he  continued,  "Ah  ain't 
goin'  t'  hev  no  lubber  o'  a  storekeep  slaverin'  aroun'  my 
gals!" 

Again  no  one  answered.  But  David  Bond,  as  he  watched 
Dallas  questioningly,  determined  to  be  silent  no  longer. 
He  paused  in  his  walk.  "  My  friend,"  he  said  solemnly, 
"  you  talk  like  a  madman.  For  shame !  " 

Dallas  stood  stock  still,  her  eyes  warning  him.  But  it 
was  too  late. 

Her  father  snickered,  drew  on  his  pipe  once  or  twice, 
and  then  grinned  up  at  the  evangelist.  "  It's  gittin'  light 
outdoors,"  he  said  significantly.  "  Ah  reckon  y'  could 
cross  th'  river." 

And  so  David  Bond  and  the  white  horse  went  the  way  of 
Lounsbury. 

Nearly  an  hour  passed  before  the  section-boss  addressed 
Dallas.  "Wai?  wal?  wal?  " 

She  was  wrapping  up  to  do  the  morning  chores.  "  Just 


156  The  Plow-Woman 

as  well,  I  guess,  dad,"  she  said  wearily.  "  The  meal  and 
bacon's  pretty  low.  I've  been  cooking  out  of  the  seed- 
sacks  lately." 

"  Th'  meal  an'  bacon's  got  t'  las',"  he  answered.  "  Use 
th'  seed  ef  y'  want  t',  an'  don'  give  thet  Injun  so  much. 
We  shan't  ast  tick  o'  no  lallygaggin',  do-a-grapevine-twist 
dandy." 

Dallas  sighed,  found  Marylyn  to  kiss  her,  and  grate- 
fully breasted  the  chill  air  beyond  the  door. 

His  dismissal  from  the  shack  brought  no  hardship  upon 
David  Bond.  He  found  an  old  acquaintance  in  Colonel 
Cummings,  who  joyfully  greeted  him  as  interpreter  in  the 
absence  of  Matthews.  He  found  familiar  faces  among  the 
hostages,  whose  sullen  reserve  in  his  presence  he  laid  to 
their  imprisonment.  At  barracks,  the  enlisted  men  chaffed 
him  mischievously,  christened  him  "  Methuselah,"  and  in- 
stalled him  as  "  official  doom  sealer "  of  the  post.  But 
when  he  passed  them  by  to  give  every  hour  of  his  days  and 
nights  to  young  Jamieson — young  Jamieson,  battling 
with  all  his  might  against  collapse — the  men  ceased  chaf- 
fing, and  listened  to  him  with  respect.  A  crank  on  religion 
was  one  thing,  a  man  with  one  eye  on  the  Bible  and  his 
sleeves  rolled  up  for  hard  duty  was  another.  The  troopers 
cared  little  for  sermonising,  but  they  honoured  service. 
Then,  it  was  Jamieson  for  whom  the  evangelist  was  caring. 
And  Jamieson  held  the  very  heartstrings  of  the  garrison. 

As  for  Lounsbury,  Brannon  entertained  him  no  less 
gladly.  His  was  the  rare  good-humour  that  enlivens  every 
occasion.  He  practised  at  target-shooting  with  the  en- 
listed men ;  he  played  billiards  with  the  officers ;  he  dined ; 
made  up  sleigh  rides ;  lent  himself  to  theatricals ;  furnished 


Necessity  157 

a  fourth  at  cards,  and,  at  the  frequent  dances,  led  out 
homely  and  pretty  alike. 

To  David  Bond  it  seemed  as  if  the  storekeeper  were  in- 
different to  his  own  dismissal  from  the  shack.  But  one 
morning  the  evangelist  accidentally  came  upon  the 
younger  man.  He  was  watching  the  Bend  through  a  tele- 
scope, and  his  face  was  anxious  and  troubled. 

"  Lancaster  hasn't  started  for  the  land-office  again," 
he  said.  Then,  after  a  moment's  silence,  "  I've  just  about 
decided  to  go  Bismarck-way  myself  to-day.  When  you 
can,  will  you  let  me  know  how  they  are  over  there?  " 

"  Charles  will  keep  me  posted,"  answered  the  evangel- 
ist, "  and  I  shall  send  you  any  news  by  the  mail  sleigh." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Lounsbury,  simply.  "  Good-by." 
And  at  the  noon  mess  he  was  missing. 

At  the  shack,  the  days  were  numbered  slowly,  for  all 
their  scant  hours  of  light.  Sleep  consumed  most  of  the 
time.  The  rest  was  taken  by  the  meals,  the  chores  and  the 
effort  of  keeping  warm.  The  line  of  calico-covered  books 
helped  to  vary  the  monotony.  So  did  the  visits  of  Squaw 
Charley.  But  these  were  becoming  more  brief  now.  Not 
that  Lancaster  made  them  unpleasant — Charley  was  neces- 
sary to  him — but  that  the  Indian  was  always  in  a  fever 
to  be  gone.  Since  the  council,  his  eyes  were  less  downcast, 
his  face  was  less  stolid. 

One  day  brought  a  totally  unexpected  visitor,  whom 
Lancaster  recognised  with  some  misgivings  as  the  United 
States  land-agent  at  Bismarck.  The  section-boss  was  soon 
reassured,  however.  The  agent  said  that,  having  business 
near  Brannon,  and  remembering  that  Lancaster  wished  to 
file  an  entry  on  the  bend  when  the  first  claimant's  six 


158  The  Plow-Woman 

months  were  up,  he  had  come  by.  In  the  case  of  a  man  who 
was  hurt,  he  said,  the  law  allowed  such  a  course.  The  sec- 
tion-boss, thus  saved  the  arduous  trip,  signed  the  necessary 
papers  with  a  jubilant  mark. 

Then  came  Old  Michael  for  a  time  or  two.  It  seemed  at 
first  as  if  he  were  to  be  a  favourite.  He  could  adapt  him- 
self with  all  the  art  of  his  race.  And  before  Lancaster  he 
was  intensely  Southern  in  his  views,  whipping  the  North 
in  many  a  broguey  strife.  Until — it  befell  through  a  slip 
of  the  tongue — a  slip  that  sent  him  packing  off.  For  he 
boasted  how,  in  '62,  his  freckled  hands  had  helped  in  pilot- 
ing the  Federals  to  Island  Number  10! 

It  was  an  outcome  that  gave  Dallas  little  concern. 
Marylyn  was  her  worry.  The  younger  girl  was  listless, 
pale  and  moody.  Now  and  then,  Dallas  believed  she  saw 
a  look  of  actual  suffering  in  her  eyes.  Once,  awakening 
in  the  night,  she  heard  her  sob. 

Marylyn  was  unhappy,  and  the  thought  made  the  elder 
girl  desperate.  This  led  her  to  a  plan:  Lounsbury  must 
be  asked  to  forgive  their  father  and  come  again — must  be 
told  of  Marylyn's  confession ! 

Soon  afterward  a  second  worry  presented  itself,  one 
fully  as  serious.  The  provisions  were  dwindling,  the  seed- 
sacks  shrinking  fast,  and,  estranged  from  Lounsbury,  they 
had  nowhere  to  ask  credit  but  at  the  Fort. 

When  Dallas  spoke  of  it  to  her  father,  he  chuckled. 
"  Wai,  we  got  Simon,  ain't  we?  "  he  said. 

That  same  night,  Marylyn  put  down  her  fork  and 
stared  across  the  table  at  her  sister.  "  Why,  Dallas,  you 
don't  eat ! "  she  complained. 

Dallas  laughed.  "  I  don't  work,  honey,"  she  answered. 


Necessity  159 

The  question  of  fuel  entered  next,  and  became  a  grave 
one.  So  far,  the  weather  had  been  fairly  mild  for  the 
place  and  the  season.  Now,  it  took  a  more  rigorous  turn. 
The  bitter  cold  was  intensified  by  a  stiff  wind.  Snow  began 
to  fall,  and  the  wind,  growing,  drove  the  flakes  level,  so 
that  they  cut  the  face  like  filings  of  steel.  Charley's  trips 
became  uncertain,  then  impossible.  The  work  of  getting 
out  hay  for  the  stock  was  a  desperate  tax.  It  was  so  diffi- 
cult that  Dallas  dared  not  spare  a  straw  for  the  fireplace, 
and  Ben  and  Betty's  manger  had  to  be  drawn  upon  for 
wood.  When  this  source  of  supply  failed,  the  benches 
were  sacrificed  one  by  one,  the  cupboard  was  torn  down, 
and  the  bunk  and  part  of  the  table  were  split  into  kindling. 

The  family  slept  shoulder  to  shoulder  before  the  hearth, 
with  the  brave-coloured  blankets  of  the  partition  for  extra 
covering.  Lancaster  and  the  younger  girl  stayed  in  bed 
all  of  the  twenty-four  hours.  Dallas  got  up  only  long 
enough  to  tend  the  animals  and  prepare  food.  But  a  day 
came  when  she  could  not  make  her  way  to  the  lean-to,  and 
when  the  warped  door  could  not  be  opened  in  the  teeth  of 
the  raging  storm.  Toward  noon,  she  cooked  some  food, 
however.  The  seed  sacks  were  empty;  there  was  no  rice 
and  no  flour.  While  the  blizzard  howled  without,  and  Simon 
and  the  mules  called  pitifully  for  their  fodder  and  drink, 
she  broke  up  what  was  left  of  the  table.  Over  its  blaze  the 
last  smitch  of  bacon  went  to  savour  the  last  pint  of  beans. 

After  the  meal  Dallas  read  aloud.  Lying  down,  she 
held  her  book  in  one  hand  until  her  fingers  were  blue  with 
cold,  then  changed  to  the  other.  Father  and  sister  drowsed, 
and  she  put  the  story  aside  to  study  over  the  predicament 
in  which  she  felt  herself  at  fault.  Counting  on  blizzards, 


160  The  Plow-Woman 

but  knowing  nothing  of  their  duration,  she  had  deter- 
mined to  say  little  about  their  needs  until  those  needs 
pressed.  When,  she  knew,  her  father  would  see  their  ex- 
tremity. The  extremity  had  come.  Yet,  willing  or  un- 
willing, Lancaster  was  cut  off  from  seeking  help. 

That  day  closed  in  fearful  cold.  The  wind  was  become 
a  furious  gale.  Sturdily,  the  log  house  withstood  it.  Only 
the  roof  seemed  threatened.  With  each  great  blast,  it 
lifted  a  little,  as  if  on  the  point  of  whirling  away.  But 
when  darkness  came,  even  the  roof  settled  into  quiet.  For 
the  drifts  that  had  been  piling  up  gradually  to  the  north 
and  west  of  the  shack,  sealing  the  windows  and  the  door, 
had  risen  to  the  grassy  eaves  and  overflowed  them,  and  so 
weighted  the  thatch. 

Next  morning,  long  before  Marylyn  and  her  father 
wakened,  Dallas  roused.  The  room  was  in  dusk,  and  its  air 
was  so  cold  that  it  seemed  fairly  to  singe  the  skin.  She 
could  not  read.  Presently,  Marylyn  turned.  The  elder 
girl  hastened  to  soothe  her.  Then,  their  father  yawned. 
Dallas  feigned  sleep. 

But  the  evil  moment  could  not  be  put  off.  Lancaster 
propped  himself  on  an  elbow  and  called  to  her.  He  was 
hungry. 

Very  quietly,  Dallas  told  him  that  there  was  no  food. 

He  grunted,  arose  and  lighted  the  lantern.  "  You  dish 
thet  snow  on  th'  floor,"  he  commanded.  "We'll  need  it 
fer  drink." 

"  What  're  you  going  to  do  ?  "  she  asked,  hastening  to 
obey.  Her  voice  was  lowered  apprehensively. 

He  was  wrapping  some  clothes  over  his  shoes.  "  Butcher 
Simon,"  he  said  curtly. 


Necessity  161 

Her  face  became  a  white  spot  in  the  gloom. 

"  Critter  '11  be  tough,  like's  not,"  went  on  her  father. 
"  But  y'  c'n  poun'  th'  meat." 

After  a  long  wait,  she  spoke.  "  You  can't  reach  him," 
she  declared,  half  triumphantly. 

"  Yas,  Ah  c'n,"  he  answered.  "  Ah  c'n  chop  through 
with  th'  hatchet."  He  was  between  the  fireplace  and  a 
corner,  feeling  over  the  logs  with  his  hands. 

She  ran  to  him.  "  Oh,  how  can  you  think  of  it  ?  "  she 
demanded  huskily.  "  Simon's  so  friendly  and — came  to  us 
for  a  home.  How  can  you  kill  him !  Maybe  you  could  eat 
him,  but  7  couldn't.  It  'd  just  choke  me!  " 

"  Oh,  ain't  we  sof ' ! "  sneered  her  father.  He  was 
fumbling  about  near  the  bunk,  as  if  hunting  something. 
"Mebbe  y'  'd  like  Ah  should  kill  a  mule!  Ha!  ha!  No 
mule-meat  fer  me.  Ah'll  give  thet  bull  a  tunk  'tween  th' 
eyes,  an'  we'll  hev  steak." 

She  stood  in  the  dim  light,  one  arm  crooked  up  to  cover 
her  face.  Presently,  Marylyn  moaned;  then,  Dallas  low- 
ered her  arm  and  looked  down  at  her  sister.  "  One  of  the 
mules  would  be  easier,"  she  said  bitterly.  But  remembering 
the  brown  eyes  of  the  team,  and  the  long,  grey-whiskered 
noses,  she  covered  her  face  again. 

"  Ah  don'  keer  w'at  y'  say,"  declared  her  father. 
"  We'll  hev  steak."  He  selected  a  log  and  began  to  hack 
at  it. 

Shuddering,  she  sank  to  her  knees,  one  hand  reached  out 
to  touch  Marylyn.  "  Maybe  Charley  '11  come,  honey,"  she 
whispered  hopefully.  "  Maybe,  maybe !  " 

And  now  it  seemed  as  if  she  heard  something  outside. 
She  crept  to  the  door.  Around  the  latch  was  a  little  space. 


162  The  Plow-Woman 

She  put  her  ear  to  it,  and  the  icy  air  blew  against  her 
cheek.  There  it  was  again!  The  shriek  of  the  gale. 

She  went  back  to  the  bed. 

Hack!  hack!  hack!  Then,  muttered  curses.  And  again 
the  sound  of  chopping. 

When  she  could  bear  it  no  longer,  she  got  up  and  stum- 
bled over  to  her  father.  "  Dad,"  she  said,  "  if  I  break  up 
the  mantel  and  fix  something,  will  you  stop  ?  " 

He  sat  back  on  his  feet,  puffing  crossly.  "  Light  a  fire," 
he  said.  "  Use  these  chips.  Ah'll  res'."  He  threw  down  the 
hatchet  and  crawled  under  the  blankets.  He  was  glad  of  the 
interruption,  for  the  duty  ahead  was  assuming  an  ugly 
guise. 

Dallas  had  filled  the  coffee-pail  with  snow.  Now,  she 
gathered  up  the  chips,  lit  them,  and  pried  up  the  wide 
board  of  the  mantel.  This  she  split  with  the  hatchet. 

"  What  you  going  to  make?  "  asked  Marylyn,  from  the 
bed. 

"  Pepper-tea,  honey.  It  '11  warm  you  up." 

"  Oh,  I'm  glad.   Ma  made  some  once." 

Pepper-tea  it  was.  When  the  snow  had  melted  and  the 
water  was  boiling  hot,  Dallas  added  pepper  and  salt.  Then 
she  spread  a  cloth  and  turned  the  wheat  and  corn  sacks 
out  upon  it.  She  got  a  handful  of  flour.  With  this  she 
thickened  the  water.  Three  cups  were  setting  upon  the 
floor.  She  took  the  coffee-pail  over,  poured  into  two,  and 
handed  them  to  her  father  and  Marylyn. 

"  Don't  spill  a  drop,"  she  cautioned. 

"You  got  some?"  queried  Marylyn,  sitting  up. 

Dallas  went  back  to  the  other  cup.  "  Well,  what  do  you 
think  I'm  doing?  "  she  asked,  and  lifted  it  to  her  lips. 


Necessity  163 

Soon,  the  three  were  lying  shoulder  to  shoulder  again, 
the  section-boss  drawing  a  little  added  comfort  from  his 
pipe.  Before  long,  he  was  asleep;  Marylyn,  too.  When 
Dallas  got  up  cautiously  and  brewed  a  cup  of  peppered 
water  for  herself.  The  hot  draught  relieved  the  pangs  of 
her  hunger.  She  lay  down  again. 

Hours  later,  she  was  awakened  by  hearing  faint  squeals 
directly  overhead.  Hastily,  she  lit  the  lantern  and  took 
down  the  Sharps ;  then,  stepped  directly  under  the  sounds 
and  poked  the  rifle's  muzzle  into  the  hay  of  the  roof. 
Above,  storm-driven  and  crowding  one  another  against  the 
stones  of  the  chimney,  were  some  pigs ! 

In  her  eagerness,  she  trembled  so  violently  that  she  be- 
came unsteady  on  her  feet.  It  lost  her  the  opportunity  of 
firing.  For,  as  she  waited,  trying  to  get  a  blind  aim,  the 
squeals  suddenly  died  out.  The  pigs  had  gone  over  toward 
the  edge  of  the  lean-to. 

When  next  she  awoke, — awoke  from  a  dream  of  well- 
spread  tables,  she  could  not  guess  how  much  time  had 
passed,  or  whether  it  was  day  or  night.  The  shack  was 
pitch  dark.  Of  one  thing  she  could  be  sure:  The  storm 
had  not  abated,  so  there  was  no  hope  of  aid. 

She  knew  something  must  be  done.  Simon  and  the  team 
wrung  her  heart  with  their  pleas.  Beside  her,  Marylyn 
was  turning  with  fretful  complaints.  The  younger  girl 
rolled  her  head  from  side  to  side  constantly,  and  moistened 
her  lips.  Dallas  chopped  up  the  rifle  rack  and  made  a  fire 
of  it;  then  plied  Marylyn  with  more  of  the  pepper-tea. 
The  section-boss  refused  to  partake.  The  first  cup,  he  said, 
had  burned  him.  Tobacco  was  better  solace. 

Dallas  did  not  taste  the  tea,  either.  A  fearful  nausea 


164  Tit  JPfar-m 


fetfer  did  »ot  •»**  *  second  *tt*cfc  o»  the  kg.  Hk 
mrt  far  t«mad  Itd^o^  In  «gftrf  tfee 

:;  '-  r:  \.-  ::    -  :^V-  :;   :'^  v 


ti*  He  of  UK  MIL  He  be* 

tawd  f ran  tine  t&t  tiuil 


4e  sud  Wnicdhr*  *Ckt  ^.  To*  got  t»  do 
For  Mardrm—  for 
it  wm$  ai  raJ 


-  -'    -  _  m  _  **  ^^_>^     _____    m» 

;  :       .      ;      >  ..   .«.  .    ;  .       .     •-»...>      .       :  .  > 

,  .,;-;,- 


fc*«n*M 

At  fas*  tfe  *md  of  OK 


Necessity  ir,r> 

to  her  father,  pulled  at  his  arm.  "If  you  kill  Simon, 
there's  no  wood  to  do  any  cooking,"  she  said.  "HHI.T 
wait,  dad — hour  or  two,  please!  " 

He  twisted  from  under  her  hand,  and  scowled  up. 
"  Shucks!  "  he  answered.  kk  Il<  n  \  chips  'nough  fcr  a  fire." 
And  swung  the  hatchet  wilh  fr«  ,h  /,.il. 

She  lingered  a  moment,  smiling  grimly.  It  was  only  a 
play  for  time.  She  knew  very  well  that  there  would  be 
timber  when  her  father  reached  Simon's  stall. 

Lancaster  was  making  fast  progress.  The  log  upon 
\\hich  he  worked  was  dry  from  the  heat  of  the  hearth.  It 
splintered  like  weathered  pine.  A  section  of  it  was  soon 
cut  away  so  far  that  a  final  blow  with  the  hatchet  head 
drove  it  in.  It  rolled  to  the  noses  of  the  mules.  Lancaster 
thrust  his  head  through  the  hole. 

Between  the  scantlings  that  penned  Simon  into  his  part 
of  the  lean-to,  the  section-boss  spied  two  glowing  « 
They    watched    him,    then    the    door,    then    him    again. 
"  M-m-m-m!  "  came  a  deep  protest,  as  the  bull  blew  and 
pawed  at  the  dirt  floor. 

The  section-boss  drew  back  nervously.  "  Simon  's  actin' 
funny,"  he  said.  "  He's  locoed,  or  he's  smelt  a  mice." 

He  got  no  answer.  Dallas  was  in  the  corner  farthest 
from  him,  crowded  against  the  logs.  Her  arms  were 
raised.  Her  head  rested  between  them. 

Lancaster  grunted  disgustedly,  and  fell  to  chopping 
again.  The  opening  in  the  wall  was  not  quite  wide  enough 
up  and  down  for  his  body.  He  enlarged  it  by  cutting  away 
at  the  lower  side.  Finally,  satisfied  with  its  size,  he  un- 
pinned the  shoulder  blanket,  freed  his  feet,  and  crawled 
through. 


166  The  Plow- Woman 

And  now  Dallas  looked  round,  fastening  her  eyes  upon 
the  dark  hole  beyond  the  hearth.  Beside  it,  the  lantern 
burned  with  a  sickly  flame.  "  It's  murder !  It's  murder ! 
It's  murder!  "  she  breathed. 

Marylyn  tossed,  moaning.  Dallas  ran  to  her.  There  she 
stayed,  eyes  and  ears  buried  in  the  bed-clothes. 

Within  the  lean-to,  a  curious  parley  was  being  held. 
Lancaster  was  standing,  hatchet  in  hand,  at  the  bar  of 
Simon's  pen.  Behind  him  was  the  stable  door,  before  him, 
just  out  of  reach,  the  bull.  Simon  was  not  pawing  now. 
His  fore  feet  were  spread  wide,  his  nose  touched  the 
ground  between  them.  He  was  alternately  mooing  and 
blowing,  and  his  angry  eyes  were  fixed,  not  on  the  section- 
boss,  but  on  the  bottom  of  the  door. 

"  Simon,  Simon,"  said  Lancaster,  in  a  wheedling  tone. 
He  could  scarcely  see  the  animal,  for  the  eastern  window 
was  snowed  shut.  The  bull  made  no  move.  Presently,  the 
old  man  shoved  the  single  bar  aside  and  hopped  forward 
a  step  or  two,  his  gaze  fixed  on  the  star  between  those 
glowing  eyes. 

Still  the  bull  did  not  move. 

"  So,  Simon,"  purred  the  section-boss.  He  gave  another 
hop  forward,  and  raised  the  hatchet.  "  So,  Simon,  nice 
Simon ! " 

"  Wo-o-o-ah!  " 

It  was  a  roar  that  fairly  shook  the  lean-to.  Simon  flung 
up  his  head. 

Fearful  for  his  safety,  Lancaster  dodged  to  the  left, 
stumbled,  overturned,  and  went  down  with  a  cry.  "  Dallas 
—help !  " 

A  cry  answered  him.  The  mules  reared.  Then,  out  of 


Necessity  167 

the  gloom  plunged  a  red  bulk,  head  lowered,  tail  straight. 
There  was  a  second  roar,  a  crash,  as  the  stable  door  flew 
outward,  an  in-rush  of  frigid  air,  and  the  swirling  sound 
of  wind  and  sleet.  And  Simon,  leaping  something  that  was 
lying  at  the  entrance,  shot  on  into  the  blizzard. 

Early  morning  of  the  next  day,  as  the  Lancasters  were 
enjoying  a  breakfast  of  roasted  pork,  cooked  by  a  scant- 
ling of  Simon's  manger,  they  heard  the  storm  renew  its 
fury  in  strange  noises  that  were  like  the  human  voice. 
The  warped  door  creaked,  the  latch  rattled. 

They  paid  little  attention  to  it,  being  fairly  content 
with  the  strange  good  fortune  that  had  left  a  fat  frozen 
pig  in  the  snow  outside  the  lean-to.  The  stable  had  been 
nailed  tight  again,  and  there  were  enough  scantlings  in 
it  to  last  out  three  or  four  days.  Marylyn  was  better, 
having  rallied  swiftly  on  a  diet  of  rich  broth.  Even  Ben 
and  Betty  were  not  unhappy,  for  they  were  greedily  con- 
suming the  hay  of  the  bedticks. 

-  "  Sam  Patch  's  shore  bustin'  loose,"  observed  the  sec- 
tion-boss, selecting  a  second  juicy  rib  and  salting  it  from 
end  to  end.  The  salt  spilled.  He  flickered  a  pinch  over  one 
shoulder. 

Boof!  boof!  boof!  bang!  came  the  muffled  sounds  from 
without. 

"  The  harder  it  howls  now  the  sooner  it  '11  get  over  it," 
answered  Dallas,  piling  on  more  wood. 

Lancaster  lit  his  pipe.   "  Danged  glad  Ah  got  t'baccy." 

Hey!  hey!  yelled  the  storm. 

Marylyn  looked  up  from  a  book.  "  Sounds  as  if  men 
are  outside,"  she  said.  "  Listen !  " 


168  The  Plow-Woman 

They  listened,  straining  their  ears. 

Something  thumped  the  warped  door.  They  started  up. 
A  moment,  and  a  thread  of  light  came  through  the  gap 
above  the  latch. 

"  They  is !  "  cried  the  section-boss. 

A  cheer  replied.  A  sharp  command  was  sung  out  to 
them.  "  Keep  back !  Out  of  the  way !  " 

Again  the  door  was  thumped ;  then  great  pressure  was 
put  upon  it.  It  opened,  letting  in  a  half-dozen  men  and  a 
wide  path  of  warm  sunlight. 

"Hurrah!  hurrah!"  "Folks,  you  snowed  in?" 
"  Thank  God,  you're  all  right."  "  The  basket,  boys,  the 
basket." 

"  W'y,  Lawd !  "  cried  the  section-boss,  winking  against 
the  light;  "  ain't  they  no  blizzard?  " 

A  trooper  with  a  chevroned  sleeve  saluted  them.  His  air 
was  jaunty.  His  face  beamed.  "  There  was,  sir,  last 
night,"  he  said  gaily,  "  but  there  hain't  none  now.  Clear 
has  ha  bell,  sir." 

"Y'  fr'm  th'  Post?"  demanded  Lancaster,  trying  to 
look  severe. 

He  of  the  chevrons  waved  his  companions  out.  "  Hi'm 
from  Hingland,  sir,"  he  answered.  "  Sergeant  Kippis  his 
my  name.  Will  you  'ave  some  '  soldier's  coffee,'  sir?  " 

Dallas  hurried  past  him  and  into  the  newly  dug  tunnel. 
Overhead  was  a  serene  sky.  Between  shack  and  river  lay 
a  dazzling  mile  of  drifts.  And  midway,  brisket  deep,  but 
advancing  resolutely,  and  bugling  at  every  floundering 
step,  was  Simon! 


CHAPTER    XVI 
BACK    FROM    THE    WINTER    CAMP 

WELL,  Captain ?  "  It  was  partly  a  greeting 
full  of  relief,  partly  an  eager  inquiry,  as 
Colonel  Cummings  came  hurrying  out  of  his 
library  to  meet  Oliver  in  the  entry. 

The  latter  straightened  a  little,  but  hesitated  depreca- 
tingly  before  taking  the  colonel's  hand.  "  I've  nothing  to 
report  but  failure,  sir,"  he  said. 

The  stinging  wind  that  had  blown  the  command  home 
into  barracks,  and  scourged  the  humped  shoulders  of  the 
men  and  the  thin  flanks  of  their  mounts,  had  cut  the  flesh 
over  the  captain's  high  cheek-bones  until  it  was  red  and 
raw.  The  lower  part  of  his  face  was  hidden  under  a  growth 
that  matched  his  drooping  moustache.  On  his  forehead 
and  about  his  eyes,  the  skin  was  a  dark  sallow,  marked  by  a 
lattice  of  deep  lines — lines  of  worry  and  weariness. 

"  Nothing  to  report  but  failure,"  he  repeated,  and  let 
the  orderly  pull  off  his  stiffened  overcoat. 

"  The  troop  ?  "  asked  Colonel  Cummings,  anxiously. 

"  All  safe."  The  other  hung  his  cap  on  a  nail,  his  belt 
upon  his  overcoat. 

"  Thank  Heaven !  That  storm — I  was  afraid.  Where 
did  it  catch  you?  " 

"  On  the  Knife.  We  put  up  with  some  half-breeds.  It 
was  hard  on  the  horses,  but  a  rest  for  the  men." 


170  The  Plow-Woman 

The  colonel  led  the  way  into  the  library. 

On  his  entrance,  a  figure  in  the  dusk  behind  the 
stove  sprang  up  with  a  questioning  cry.  It  was  young 
Jamieson. 

"  Easy,  easy,  for  God's  sake ! "  begged  the  captain. 
He  put  out  one  arm  as  if  to  ward  off  a  blow. 

Jamieson  brought  up.  He  saw  the  look  of  defeat  in 
Oliver's  bloodshot  eyes,  and  his  voice  quaked,  his  body 
shuddered  in  mortal  terror  of  what  he  was  to  hear. 

"  It's  bad  news,  but  not  as  bad  as  it  might  be,"  began 
the  captain.  Colonel  Cummings  offered  him  a  chair.  He 
dropped  into  it.  "  It  is  said  that  your  mother  and  sister 
are  alive,  and  will  be  delivered  up  to  us  in  the  spring, 
provided  there  are  no  executions  here.  But — I  didn't  see 
them,  and  I  don't  know  where  they  are." 

Jamieson  coughed  down  a  heart-broken  protest,  and, 
as  if  stunned,  tottered  weakly  toward  the  stove. 

Colonel  Cummings  knotted  his  hands  together. 
"  Where's  Matthews?  "  he  asked. 

He  was  answered  by  the  slamming  of  the  outside  door, 
and  by  a  voice  in  the  entry ;  a  moment  later,  there  was  a 
sharp  tattoo  on  the  library  door.  The  colonel  opened  it 
and  answered  the  interpreter's  salute. 

With  Matthews  seated  on  the  army  cot,  and  the  com- 
manding officer  pacing  to  and  fro,  Captain  Oliver  made  his 
report.  He  stood  at  the  window,  his  arms  folded,  his  eyes 
following  his  superior. 

"  We  located  the  camp  easily,"  he  said.  "  The  direc- 
tions given  by  the  hostages  were  exact.  But  that  is  about 
the  only  thing  that  did  come  easily.  The  rest  was  all 
procrastination. 


Back  from  the  Winter  Camp  171 

"  At  noon,  on  the  tenth  day  out,  we  saw,  ahead  of  us 
on  a  ridge,  a  single  Indian.  I  selected  four  men  to  make  a 
swift  detour,  thinking  that  perhaps  they  would  discover 
a  hunting-party  just  over  the  crest.  But  the  slope  beyond 
was  unoccupied,  and  there  were  only  the  marks  of  one 
pair  of  moccasins.  I  concluded  that  the  solitary  brave  was 
scouting,  and  I  was  right. 

"  A  few  miles  farther,  we  sighted  a  half-dozen  Indians. 
They  were  watching  us  from  a  hill.  I  called  a  halt.  Then 
I  took  two  men  and  Mr.  Matthews  and  made  forward. 
We  carried  a  truce  flag.  They  let  us  come  within  talking 
distance.  They  knew,  I  am  sure,  why  we  were  there.  But 
they  asked  no  questions — just  told  us  that  the  command 
was  expected  to  advance  no  farther  than  a  grove  that  lay 
a  little  ahead,  to  our  right.  I  assented  to  that,  and  said  I 
wished  a  conference  with  their  head-chief.  They  promised 
me  an  answer  later  on,  and  at  once  withdrew  to  a  rise  a 
mile  behind.  There  they  stayed  until,  after  a  careful  re- 
connoitre, we  entered  the  grove. 

"  Late  that  afternoon,  Mr.  Matthews  and  I  again  rode 
forward  to  speak  to  a  trio  of  warriors.  One  of  them,  a  big, 
bony  fellow  in  a  splendid  bonnet,  asked  what  we  wanted. 
The  interpreter  told  him.  The  Indian  said  that  the  head- 
chief  was  very  sick,  and  that  he  could  not  leave  his  lodge. 
He  told  us  we  might  accompany  them  to  the  village,  which 
lay  a  few  miles  farther  up.  Of  course  I  rejected  the  pro- 
posal. 

"  Well,  I  saw  there  was  no  use  to  haggle  in  that  fashion. 
I  ordered  the  interpreter  to  go  into  particulars.  He  pro- 
ceeded to  state  your  terms." 

At  this  point  in  the  narrative,  Colonel  Cummings  stood 


172  The  Plow-Woman 

still.  Captain  Oliver  advanced  toward  him  a  step,  and  met 
his  eyes  in  a  curious,  helpless  way. 

"  It  was  queer,"  he  continued,  "  but  what  Mr.  Matthews 
told  them  didn't  seem  to  scare  them  any." 

"  Oh,  it  didn't !  "  cried  the  colonel,  angrily,  and  once 
more  began  to  pace. 

"  No,  they  grinned  at  him,  and  chattered  together. 
Then  they  rode  away.  When  dark  came  on,  fearing 
treachery,  we  left  the  grove  for  a  sheltered  place  farther 
down.  Our  scouts  then  set  out  for  the  Indian  village,  go- 
ing across  the  river,  and  far  around  to  the  right.  On  their 
return,  they  said  that  the  Sioux  camp  numbered  several 
hundred  wigwams.  While  just  above  was  a  village  of  Dog 
Soldiers. 

"  The  night  passed  quietly.  In  the  morning,  a  single 
brave  came  riding  toward  us.  He  stopped  beyond  rifle- 
reach.  I  sent  the  interpreter  out.  He  returned  to. say  that 
the  chief  promised  him  fair  treatment  if  he  would  come 
alone.  I  took  it  that  the  camp  was  anxious  for  a  little 
entertainment,  and  that  one  white  was  to  furnish  it.  I 
didn't  consider  this  second  proposal  a  minute — it  was 
worse  than  foolish,  I  thought.  But " — he  looked  toward 
the  cot — "  Mr.  Matthews  didn't  agree  with  me.  He  went. 
It  was  a  magnificent  bit  of  courage,  sir." 

The  colonel  wheeled.  "  By  Jupiter ! "  he  exclaimed. 
"  You  did  that?  " 

Matthews  smiled  and  crossed  his  legs  awkwardly.  "  Oh, 
it  wa'n't  nothin',"  he  said,  forbearing  to  glance  up.  "  I 
savvy  Injuns,  you  know.  I — I  was  willin'  to  take  the 
chances." 

Colonel  Cummings  looked  down.  After  a  moment,  and 


Back  from  the  Winter  Camp  173 

without  changing  the  position  of  his  body,  he  turned  his 
face  slowly  in  Oliver's  direction.  The  eyes  of  the  two 
officers  met,  and  flashed  messages  of  doubt. 

When  the  commanding  officer  looked  at  the  interpreter 
again,  it  was  on  his  lips  to  say,  "  But  you  were  afraid 
to  enter  the  stockade  with  me."  He  checked  himself,  how- 
ever, and,  instead,  reached  for  Matthews'  hand.  "  It  was 
a  magnificent  bit  of  courage,"  he  agreed.  "  Tell  us  what 
happened." 

Matthews  fingered  the  blanket  on  the  cot.  "  I  seen  the 
chief,"  he  said,  "  and  told  him  what  you  told  me  to  tell 
him.  When  I  got  it  all  out,  he  says  to  me,  *  The  white 
women  ain't  here ;  they're  with  the  Wyomin'  band,  and  the 
Wyomin'  band  's  up  in  Canada.  Now,'  he  says,  '  the  band 
'11  come  south  in  the  spring.  So  tell  Colonel  Cummin's,  if 
he  don't  do  no  hangin',  I'll  send  the  white  women  home 
then.'  " 

A  low  groan  came  from  behind  the  stove.  Young  Jamie- 
son  came  out,  his  features  distorted  with  grief  and  shin- 
ing with  tears.  "  Think  of  it!  think  of  it!  Not  till  spring! 
Are  they  well?  How  are  they  treating  them?  " 

"  Oh, — so-so,"  said  Matthews,  significantly. 

Young  Jamieson  understood.  He  went  back  to  his  seat, 
sobbing  with  the  hysterical  weakness  of  a  sick  man.  "  He's 
bungled  the  business,  Colonel,"  he  said  bitterly.  "  Oh, 
God !  If  you  had  only  let  me  go ! " 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  dear  boy,"  answered  the  other,  sooth- 
ingly. "  But  please  remember  that  you  couldn't  have 
talked  with  them.  The  conference  would  have  been  carried 
on  through  Mr.  Matthews  just  the  same." 

There  was  a  silence,  broken  only  by  Jamieson's  weeping. 


174  The  Plow-Woman 

"  Is  that — all?  "  asked  Colonel  Cummings,  at  last,  ad- 
dressing himself  to  the  interpreter. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Shortly  afterward,  when  he  was  gone,  the  two  officers 
left  the  library  for  the  reception-room,  and  discussed  the 
expedition  in  low  tones. 

"  I  have  a  feeling,  Colonel,  that  our  interpreter  wasn't 
fair  in  this  thing,"  was  Captain  Oliver's  first  confidence. 
They  were  standing  at  a  front  window,  watching  Mat- 
thews cross  the  parade-ground  to  the  barber-shop. 

"  The  same  thought  occurred  to  me." 

"  And  yet — it  doesn't  seem  possible " 

"  Oh,  if  Bond  had  only  come  sooner  1 " 

"Bond!  He  here?" 

"  Yes— just  half  a  day  too  late." 

While  they  were  talking,  Matthews  was  losing  his  tow 
beard  and  moustache  and  a  good  length  of  hair.  This 
over,  and  his  supper  eaten,  he  reappeared  at  headquarters, 
and  went  with  Colonel  Cummings  to  the  stockade. 

Much  to  his  chagrin,  he  found  the  evangelist  there, 
ready  to  be  present  at  the  interview  with  the  hostages. 
But  the  Indians  understood  his  predicament,  and  accepted 
the  speech  he  made  for  the  little  it  was  worth.  It  was  a 
speech  that,  repeated  by  David  Bond,  set  Colonel  Cum- 
mings' last  suspicion  at  rest. 

Lounsbury  arrived  at  Fort  Bfannon  the  next  day,  ap- 
pearing in  time  for  breakfast.  His  early  advent,  which  he 
explained  away  nonchalantly,  was  the  cause  of  some  good- 
natured  teasing. 

"  Say,  Lounsbury,"  observed  one  officer,  "  I  thought 
you  were  keeping  a  store." 


Back  from  the  Winter  Camp  175 

"  Get  out !  "  he  retorted.  "  I'm  down  here  to  see  that 
you  fellows  do  something  for  the  good  money  Uncle  Sam 
pays  you." 

"Why,  don't  you  know?"  said  Major  Appleton. 
"  John's  here  to  sell  the  sutler  some  sandy  sugar." 

"That's  right!"  agreed  the  storekeeper.  "And  I'm 
going  to  put  up  a  plant  to  make  brown  sugar  out  of  the 
Muddy." 

Lounsbury  could  afford  to  laugh  with  them,  not  being 
the  only  butt  of  the  jokers.  Fraser  suffered,  too.  For  a 
tattling  private,  who  had  spent  the  night  at  Shanty 
Town,  let  it  out  to  a  corporal,  who  told  it  to  a  sergeant, 
who  told  it  to  a  cub  of  a  second-lieutenant,  who  told  it  to 
every  officer  in  post  (with  the  single  exception  of  the 
"  K.  O.")  that  Fraser — the  good,  the  discreet,  the  unim- 
peachable— had  played  poker  with  Matthews  at  The 
Trooper's  Delight  from  taps  to  "  revelly,"  and  lost  his 
last  dollar! 

The  tale  had  leaked  by  the  hour  of  Lounsbury's  ar- 
rival. When  the  storekeeper  heard  it,  together  with  the 
embellishments  it  carried  by  reason  of  its  having  so  often 
changed  hands,  he  first  gave  Fraser  a  grip  to  show  his 
gratitude,  and  then  sat  back  and  enjoyed  the  fun.  Fraser, 
sorely  tried  by  the  taunts  of  his  brother-officers,  repaid 
Lounsbury  with  glances  of  wounded  reproof. 

"  Blame  it  all !  old  man,"  he  cried,  when  he  could  get  a 
quiet  word  with  the  other,  "why  didn't  you  help  me  out? 
You're  a  nice  one !  Letting  these  chaps  think  I'm  a  sport ! 
When  you  know " 

But  Lounsbury  only  laughed  the  harder.  And  was 
among  the  first  to  dub  the  lieutenant 


176  The  Plow-Woman 

The  storekeeper  did  have  business  with  the  sutler, 
though  not  the  kind  suggested  by  the  major.  For,  after 
being  closeted  with  that  worthy  a  half -hour,  Squaw  Char- 
ley was  despatched  to  the  Lancasters'  with  a  basket,  and 
a  note  which  read: 

"  Mr.  Evan  Lancaster,  Dear  Sir — Owing  to  the  fact  that  a 
lot  of  B  troop's  surplus  rations  in  the  way  of  beans,  butter, 
bacon,  flour,  salt,  pepper,  dried  apples,  prunes,  rice,  vinegar, 
molasses,  etc.,  etc.,  are  piling  up  on  my  hands,  I  wish  to  dis- 
pose of  same  in  some  way  at  once  and  at  any  sacrifice.  Would  it 
be  possible  for  you  to  relieve  me  of  some  of  these  goods  and 
pay  me  back  next  summer  out  of  your  garden?  Also  hope  you 
can  find  room  for  a  table,  benches,  and  extra  lumber  on  same 
terms.  If  you  can  do  this,  you  will  greatly  oblige, 
"  Yours  very  truly, 

"  JAMES  MADISON  BLAKELY, 
"  Sutler,  Fort  Brannon,  Dakota  Terr. 

"  P.  S.  Enclosed  find  samples  which  please  keep  if  satis- 
factory. J.  M.  B." 

When  Squaw  Charley  returned  from  the  shack,  he  bore 
an  empty  basket,  and  the  following  reply: 

"  Dear  Sir — Thank  you.  We  would  like  to  do  what  you 
said  if  you  will  please  chalk  it  down.  We  will  pay  next  sum- 
mer, and  maybe  before.  I  will  keep  count  too. 

"  DALLAS  LANCASTER." 

It  was  Lounsbury  who  took  possession  of  the  note.  He 
smiled  over  it,  and  put  it  carefully  away  in  his  innermost 
pocket. 

And   now   there  remained   one   other   thing  to   do.   He 


Back  from  the  Winter  Camp  177 

dropped  into  the  billiard-room  and  commenced  playing, 
occasionally  going  to  a  window  that  commanded  the  river. 
When,  after  a  game  or  two,  he  saw  a  man  approaching 
from  Shanty  Town,  he  put  up  his  cue,  sauntered  op- 
portunely out,  and  met  the  interpreter. 

"  Well,  Matthews,"  was  his  greeting. 

"Well?" 

"  I  just  wanted  to  be  sure  that  you  know  Lancaster's 
got  that  tenth  point  I  spoke  about  cinched." 

"Yes?" 

"  And  that  what  I  said  before  you  went  away  still  goes. 
You  hear?" 

"  I  ain't  deef ,"  said  Matthews,  non-committal. 

"  That's  all."  And  Lounsbury  went  back  to  his 
billiards. 

The  interpreter  continued  on  to  the  stockade,  where  he 
was  more  fortunate  in  the  delivery  of  the  true  message 
he  had  brought. 

"  The  white  women  were  not  at  the  winter  camp,"  he 
said,  "  so  they  could  not  be  sent.  But  your  brothers 
promise  to  come  to  save  you.  Watch  for  signals  from 
Medicine  Mountain." 


CHAPTER    XVII 

THE    AWAKENING 

THAT  year,  in   the  northland,  winter  encroached 
greedily  upon  spring.  The  latter  end  of  March, 
the  weather  did  not  moderate.   Instead,  the  wide 
valley    became   a    channel    for   winds    that   were 
weighted     with     numbing     sleet.    Then,     April     returned 
angrily,  bringing  cold  rains  and  blows  to  check  all  vege- 
tation. 

But  April  half  gone,  a  tardy  thaw  set  in.  The  icy  cov- 
ering of  the  river  split  into  whirling  blocks,  the  snow  grew 
soft  and  bally,  the  crust  rotted  and  picked  up.  Soon  the 
tempering  sun  drove  the  drifts  from  south  exposures. 
When  a  freshet  coursed  down  the  coulee,  and  the  low  spots 
on  the  prairie  filled  until  they  were  broad  ponds,  around 
which  the  migrating  wild-fowl  alighted  with  joyous  cries. 
Now  eaves  dripped  musically;  slushy  wagon  ruts  ran  like 
miniature  Missouris,  and  were  travelled  by  horny  frogs; 
prairie-cocks  made  each  dawning  weirdly  noisy,  and  far 
and  near,  where  showed  the  welcome  green,  blue-eyed 
anemones  sprang  bravely  and  tossed  their  fuzzy  heads  in 
the  sharp  air. 

Throughout  this  season,  the  shack  had  but  one  visitor — 
The  Squaw.  He  brought  fuel,  and  once  a  week  a  basket 
of  supplies  from  "  B  Troop."  Occasionally,  he  came 
swinging  a  brant  by  the  neck,  or  carrying  a  saddle  of 

178 


The  Awakening  179 

fresh  venison.  But  though  his  manner  was  as  friendly  as 
ever,  and  he  seemed  no  less  grateful  and  devoted,  he  was 
always  strangely  worried  and  distraught.  The  evangelist 
called  by  once  or  twice,  when  storms  or  the  rushing  ice- 
pack in  the  river  did  not  prevent  his  crossing.  As  for 
Lounsbury,  he  traversed  the  bend  often  on  his  way  to 
Brannon  and,  if  he  saw  a  face  at  a  window,  waved  his 
hand  in  pleasant  greeting.  But  he  kept  to  the  road. 

Since  the  morning  of  the  aurora,  the  little  family  had 
ceased  to  speak  of  him.  That  silence  was  neither  de- 
manded by  the  section-boss  nor  agreed  upon  by  the  three. 
On  Lancaster's  part,  it  grew  out  of  the  sneaking  conscious- 
ness of  the  ingratitude  he  did  not  regret ;  on  the  part  of 
Marylyn,  it  arose  from  two  causes:  a  sense  of  girlish 
shame  at  having  confessed  her  attachment,  and  a  fear 
that  her  father  would  discover  it.  With  Dallas,  consider- 
ation for  the  feelings  of  her  sister  made  her  shrink  from 
mentioning  Lounsbury.  Yet  there  was  another  reason,  and 
one  no  less  delicate — she,  as  well,  had  a  secret  to  guard. 

But  in  the  mind  of  the  elder  girl,  the  thought  of 
Marylyn's  happiness  was  the  uppermost.  There  were  dread 
moments  when  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  that  happiness  were 
to  be  shattered. 

During  all  the  past  weeks,  Marylyn  had  carefully  har- 
boured her  fancies  about  Lounsbury.  Certain  of  the  calico- 
covered  books  on  the  mantel  had  no  little  part  in  this. 
Their  stories  of  undying  affection — of  bold  men,  lorn 
maidens,  and  the  cruel  villains  who  gloried  in  severing 
them — helped  her  to  fit  her  little  circle  into  proper  roles. 
She  loved,  and  must  crush  out  her  passion.  Lounsbury, 
whom  she  loved,  had  been  sent  away  by  her  father.  And 


180  The  Plow-Woman 

she  lived  up  to  the  play  consistently.  She  saw  the  store- 
keeper anguished  over  his  banishment;  saw  depths  of 
meaning  in  the  good-natured  salutes  he  gave  the  shack. 
With  herself,  she  accepted  loneliness  as  a  sign  of  deeper 
suffering.  She  was  tortured  by  self-pity,  by  the  doubt 
she  had  flung  at  Dallas,  by  the  firm  belief  that  her  heart 
was  hopelessly  fettered.  Gazing  into  a  piece  of  looking- 
glass  that  served  her  for  a  mirror,  she  marked  with  sor- 
rowful pride  her  transparent  skin  and  lustreless  eye.  She 
sighed  as  she  watched  from  the  windows.  Patiently,  she 
listened  for  footsteps,  her  face  half  turned  to  the  door. 

And  yet  what  she  took  so  tragically  was  nothing  but 
failing  health.  What  was  not  a  fact  the  night  of  her  ad- 
mission to  Dallas,  was  almost  come  to  pass.  The  few  days 
of  great  cold  and  hunger  in  February,  coupled  with  long 
confinement  in  the  dirt-floored  house,  were  having  their 
effect.  She  was  on  the  verge  of  illness. 

Lancaster,  whenever  he  noticed  her  dejection,  was  in- 
clined to  pooh-pooh  it.  "  She  looks  as  ef  she  'd  jes'  been 
slapped,"  he  declared,  "  an'  is  expectin'  another  lammin' 
any  minnit.  Ef  she  'd  cry,  she  'd  shore  weep  lemon- juice." 
Again,  he  reckoned  that  she  had  picked  up  "  some  notion." 
Jealous  and  suspicious  as  he  was,  however,  he  got  no 
nearer  to  the  truth. 

But  Dallas — she  was  misled  far  more  than  either 
Marylyn  or  their  father.  She  fought  away  from  the  idea 
that  her  sister  might  be  breaking  physically,  and  tenderly 
as  a  mother  yearned  over  her.  Anxious-eyed,  she  noted 
the  pallor  of  the  childlike  face,  the  melancholy  expres- 
sion that  had  come  to  be  habitual.  She  fretted  over  the 
spareness  of  the  younger  girl,  who  ate  only  when  she  was 


The  Awakening  181 

urged.  If,  sated  with  sleep,  Marylyn  moved  in  the  night, 
Dallas  aroused  on  the  instant  and  hovered  beside  her. 

At  last,  thoroughly  alarmed,  the  elder  girl  determined 
to  follow  out  the  idea  that  had  occurred  to  her  in  mid- 
winter. What  did  it  matter  how  hard  and  hateful  the  duty 
would  be?  What  did  her  own  hidden  feelings  matter? 
She  would  appeal  to  Lounsbury  in  her  sister's  behalf. 

But  time  passed  without  bringing  her  the  opportunity, 
and  it  was  borne  in  upon  her  finally  that  Lounsbury  meant 
to  remain  away,  perhaps  until  he  was  bidden  to  come.  Un- 
daunted, she  made  plans  to  waylay  him  on  the  coulee  road. 
Resting  the  Sharps  across  her  arm,  she  set  out,  morning 
or  afternoon,  on  a  long  jaunt. 

But  Lounsbury  was  not  met.  On  one  such  ramble,  how- 
ever, an  incident  occurred  that  was  far-reaching,  if  not 
fatal,  in  its  results.  She  was  going  homeward  slowly, 
when  she  saw,  approaching,  an  ambulance  from  Brannon, 
drawn  by  a  four-mule  team.  She  started  timidly  aside; 
then  paused.  The  vehicle  was  filled  with  ladies.  A  half- 
dozen,  who  were  talking  and  laughing  merrily,  occupied 
the  lengthwise  seats  of  the  carriage.  One  sat  beside  the 
driver.  Dallas  put  herself  in  their  path,  and  waited. 

How  often  she  had  watched  these  same  ladies  canter 
out  of  post  on  their  horseback  rides,  officers  attending 
them;  or  seen  them  make  a  rollicking  walking-party  to 
the  bluff-top.  And  she  had  pictured  how,  some  day,  they 
would  be  ferried  to  the  bend.  They  could  not  have  heard 
how  her  father  talked.  If  they  had  they  would  not  blame 
her.  If  they  passed  her,  they  would  smile  and  bow — maybe 
stop  to  speak! 

She  was   all   aglow,  now.   The   ambulance   rolled  near. 


182  The  Plow-Woman 

It  was  closed  on  its  sides,  and  the  women  within  could  not 
see  her.  The  woman  on  the  seat — pretty,  slender,  daintily 
clad — did.  Dallas  leaned  forward  eagerly,  face  flushed, 
eyes  shining. 

The  woman  also  leaned  forward,  and  looked  Dallas  up 
and  down,  searchingly,  coldly.  Her  lips  were  set  in  a 
sneer.  Her  eyes  frowned.  Then,  the  ambulance  bowled 
smartly  along,  the  driver  catching  at  a  leader  with  his 
whip. 

"Who's  that,  Mrs.  Cummings? "  The  women  in  the 
rear  of  the  vehicle  were  peering  out. 

Mrs.  Cummings  answered  over  her  shoulder.  "  Why, 
it's  The  Plow-Woman." 

There  were  "  Ohs  "  and  "  Ahs  "—and  laughter. 

The  girl  by  the  roadside  heard.  Slighted,  rebuffed, 
wounded  to  the  quick,  she  stumbled  homeward,  her  sight 
blinded  by  tears. 

She  did  not  wait  for  Lounsbury  again.  Once  she 
thought  of  writing  him,  of  summoning  him  through  a 
note  given  Squaw  Charley.  But  recalling  her  father's 
treatment  of  the  storekeeper,  she  questioned  if  the  latter 
would  heed  her  message.  She  felt  herself  isolated.  But  no 
hint  of  her  bitterness  was  allowed  to  reach  Marylyn.  The 
younger  girl  knew  only  bright  words,  and  unceasing,  un- 
selfish care. 

For  one  thing  Dallas  was  deeply  thankful:  Matthews 
did  not  trouble  the  shack.  David  Bond  had  told  her  that 
when  the  troops  left  for  the  summer  campaign,  the  in- 
terpreter would  ride  with  them,  the  evangelist  being  re- 
tained at  the  fort  to  fill  the  other's  place.  The  latter 
declared  that,  by  the  pilot's  report,  Lounsbury's  name 


The  Awakening  183 

made  Matthews  "  lay  back  his  ears,"  but  that  he  no 
longer  stormed  about  losing  the  claim. 

And  now  came  the  warm  days — days  in  swift,  sweet  con- 
trast to  those  just  gone.  Sun  and  shower  banded  the  sky 
with  triple  arcs  of  promise.  The  robins  arrived,  a  plump 
and  saucy  crew.  Bent-bill  curlews  stalked  about,  uttering 
wild  and  mellow  calls.  The  dwellers  of  the  ground  threw 
up  fresh  dirt  around  their  burrows.  The  marsh  violets 
opened  pale  lilac  cups.  And  the  very  logs  of  the  shack 
put  forth  ambitious  sprigs,  so  that,  from  the  front,  the 
grotesque  head  displayed  a  bristle  of  green  whisker.  The 
prairie  was  awake — blood  and  soil  and  sap. 

Ben  and  Betty  showed  their  high  spirits  with  comical 
sporting.  The  mules  frolicked  together,  pitching  hind 
quarters,  rearing  to  box  and  nipping  at  Simon.  Fully 
as  gay  was  he,  though  his  shaggy  flanks  were  gaunt. 
He  played  at  goring  them,  or  frisked  in  ungainly  circles. 
Occasionally,  however,  he  gave  signs  of  ill-humour,  lowered 
his  broad  horns  threateningly,  even  at  Dallas,  pawed  up 
the  new  grown  grass,  and  charged  to  and  fro  on  the  bend, 
his  voice  lifted  in  hoarse  challenge. 

On  the  little  family,  the  light,  the  warmth,  and  added 
duties  wrought  a  good  effect.  Lancaster's  grumbling  les- 
sened, and  he  helped  to  plant  some  boxes  with  cabbage 
and  tomato  seed  that  the  "  sutler "  supplied.  Marylyn, 
coaxed  out  for  an  hour  or  two  daily,  rewarded  Dallas  with 
smiles.  Her  appetite  grew  (rather  to  her  chagrin).  And 
when  she  held  the  looking-glass  before  her,  she  saw  a  faint 
colour  in  her  cheeks. 

To  Dallas,  the  spring  brought  renewed  courage — and  a 
vague  longing.  With  the  first  mild  evenings,  she  took  to 


184  The  Plow-Woman 

venturing  out,  wrapped  in  her  long  cloak,  for  a  lonely 
walk.  In  her  love  of  the  gloaming,  she  was  like  a  wild 
thing.  From  birth,  the  twilights  of  the  mesa  had  proved 
irresistible.  When  she  was  a  child  they  soothed  her  little 
troubles ;  in  womanhood,  if  sorrow  pressed  heavily,  they 
brought  her  strength.  The  half  light,  the  soft  air,  and 
the  lack  of  sound  were  balm  to  her  spirit. 

Nightly  she  strayed  up  the  coulee,  eastward,  south,  or 
toward  the  river ;  until,  early  in  May,  a  second  incident 
occurred  and  interrupted  her  rambles.  She  had  walked  as 
far  as  the  swale  that  was  part  way  to  the  Missouri.  There 
she  was  startled  into  a  sudden  halt.  From  a  point  ahead 
of  her  and  to  the  left,  sounded  a  gun  shot. 

She  sank  down  cautiously,  and  stayed  close  to  the 
ground,  her  fingers  steadying  her,  her  breath  suspended. 
There  was  no  moon,  and  the  stars  were  obscured  by  clouds. 
The  cottonwoods  were  a  black,  shapeless  mass.  She 
watched  them. 

No  answering  shot  rang  out.  But,  after  a  long  wait,  a 
reply  came  from  the  grove.  It  was  a  laugh,  loud  and 
taunting. 

She  stayed  crouched,  and  presently  saw  a  small  black 
object  leave  the  big  blackness  of  the  trees  and  advance. 
Frightened,  she  arose  and  retraced  her  steps,  glancing 
behind  her  as  she  went.  At  the  shack,  having  found  the 
latch-string,  she  backed  into  the  room. 

Her  father  and  sister  were  asleep.  Next  morning,  on  a 
plea  of  not  wishing  to  alarm  them,  she  refrained  from 
telling  of  the  shot.  It  may  have  been  a  hunter,  she 
reasoned,  or  a  drunken  trooper,  or  one  of  the  Shanty  Town 
gang.  But  the  laugh — it  rang  in  her  ears. 


The  Awakening  185 

Several  twilights  passed,  then  she  ventured  out  again. 
A  lip  of  moon  was  dropping  down  an  unclouded  sky;  the 
stars  hung  low  and  white.  And  when  she  neared  the  swale, 
she  saw,  a  good  distance  before  her,  that  small  black  ob- 
ject separate  itself  from  the  grove  again  and  move  for- 
ward. 

She  stopped.  She  was  not  frightened  now.  She  knew 
who  it  was.  And  when  she  saw  his  arms  come  up,  and 
caught  the  glint  of  metal,  she  called  out  to  him :  "  Don't ! 
don't!  It's  me!" 

There  was  a  muttered  exclamation,  and  the  arms  fell. 
"  Miss  Dallas,"  he  cried,  and  sprang  forward. 

"  I — I  was  sure  it  was  you,"  she  admitted  tremulously. 
"  And  you've  been  guarding  here  all  the  time ! " 

Lounsbury  was  panting.  "  Suppose  I'd  fired?  "  he  said. 
"  I  had  a  mind  to.  Crimini !  " 

"  You'd  'a'  missed,  likely." 

"  Maybe  not.  You  see,  I  thought,  well — that  Matthews 
or  that  precious  brother  of  his,  they  might  get  to  bother- 
ing you  folks.  Anyway,  ain't  it  dangerous  for  you  to  be 
out  here  late  like  this?" 

"  It  is  for  you.  You  get  shot  at — keeping  guard  on 
us." 

He  thumped  the  swale  impatiently  with  the  butt  of  his 
gun. 

"  Oh,  it  was  you,"  she  persisted,  gravely  enough ;  "  that 
is  why  I  came  to-night." 

"  Ah !  You  mean  that  I  can  help  you,  Miss  Dallas.  Tell 
me — tell  me,  what  can  I  do?  " 

"  Don't  let  Matthews  kill  you." 

Lounsbury  laid  down  his  gun.   When  he  straightened, 


186  The  Plow- Woman 

he  stepped  to  her  side.  "Me?"  he  said.  "Well,  I'm  * 
match  for  him.  You  ain't.  But  what  else  ?  " 

She  moved  aside,  averting  her  face. 

"There  is  something,  Miss  Dallas?" 

"  Y-e-e-s." 

He  saw  she  was  disconcerted,  and  strove  to  put  her  at 
ease.  "  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  you're  so  tall  in  that 
coat,  you  almost  look  like  a  4  heap  big  chief.'  ' 

She  did  not  hear  him.  She  was  not  listening.  The 
wished-for  opportunity  was  come.  She  was  trying  des- 
perately to  rally  a  speech.  "  You — you  ain't  been  'round 

of  late,"  she  began  at  last.  "  I  hope "  But  she  could 

not  finish. 

"  No,"  he  said  slowly.  He  rammed  his  hands  into  his 
trouser  pockets.  "  I  haven't  been  around  lately.  But — I 
didn't  think  you'd  notice  it."  He  darted  a  glance  at  her. 

"Was  it  dad?"  she  asked.   "Did  you  think " 

;  Yes,  it  was  your  father.  I  thought  he  went  out  of  his 
way  to  be — well,  kinda  short,  you  know.  I  was  only  trying 
t'  be  decent." 

"  Dad's  funny,"  she  said  reflectively.  "  Whenever  we 
get  to  a  chuck-hole,  where  all  of  us  ought  to  pull  t'gether, 
he  goes  slack  on  the  tugs.  He's  like  Ben  that  way.  So  1 
have  t'  go  up  to  him,  stroke  his  mane,  fix  his  curb,  and  let 
some  cool  air  under  his  collar.  After  while,  he  gives  a  haw- 
hee-haw  and  goes  on." 

Lounsbury  did  not  laugh.  "  He  balked  when  it  came 
to  me,"  he  said  soberly.  "  And  it  hurt.  Afterward — I 
kinda  got  it  into  my  head  that  none  of  you  wanted  me." 

She  looked  straight  at  him.  "  But  one  did — one  did" 
she  whispered,  choking. 


Tlie  Awakening  187 

He  pulled  his  hands  free  of  his  pockets.  "  One — one," 
he  said  huskily.  "Who?" 

And  now  everything  was  clear  to  her.  She  knew  just 
what  to  say.  She  had  no  feelings  of  self;  the  duty  was 
not  hateful,  nor  embarrassing.  "Who?"  she  repeated. 
"Don't  you  know,  Mr.  Lounsbury?  Why,  Marylyn." 

"  Marylyn,"  he  echoed  as  if  in  a  puzzle ;  "  Marylyn. 
You're  joking!  " 

She  caught  a  shade  of  reproach  in  that,  and  misunder- 
stood it.  "  I  reckon  you  won't  like  her  so  well  now,"  she 
said. 

"  Like  her  so  well?  I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"  She— she  likes  you,"  stammered  Dallas. 

Still  he  was  puzzled.  "  I  supposed  she  didn't  hate 
me." 

"  But  now  you  know." 

There  was  no  mistaking  her.  Utterly  dumfounded,  he 
could  not  trust  an  immediate  answer.  "  I  see,  I  see,"  he 
said  finally. 

"  And  you'll  like  her  just  the  same?  " 

He  drew  a  deep  breath.  His  eyes  were  on  her  face,  try- 
ing to  read  it  in  the  dimness.  Then,  "  I  am  not  a  cub 
boy,  Miss  Dallas." 

"  You  won't  stay  away,"  she  persisted.  "  You'll  come." 

"  If  I'm  judging  right,  I  mustn't.  I'm — I'm  sorry." 

"Sorry! — just  sorry." 

He  strode  back  and  forth  a  few  times.  "  Why — why, 
Miss  Dallas,  you  must  understand  that  a  man  can't — when 

a  girl Well,  it  'd  be  low  for  me  to  talk  about  it,  that's 

all — out  and  out  low." 

Something  stirred  her  powerfully  then — something  she 


188  The  Plow-Woman 

combated,  and  concealed  from  him  by  a  touch  of  apparent 
anger.  "  There's  nothing  low  about  it,"  she  said.  "  A 
man  ought  to  be  proud.  Oh,"  as  he  was  about  to  reply, 
"  you  don't  know  how  she's  felt.  She's  been  sick  over  it, 
white  and  sad,  and  at  night  she'd  cry." 

He  winced. 

"  And  you're  just  sorry !  " 

"  When  did  you  find  this  out?  " 

"  That  day  you  drove  Matthews  away.  She  told  me." 

He  walked  about  again.  "  I  can't  see  why  she  does,"  he 
mused  pathetically.  "I  can't  remember  doing  anything." 

"  But  you've  been  so  good  to  us — even  after  the  way 
dad  acted — guarded  out  here,  and  sent  that  land-office 
man  down  from  Bismarck " 

He  made  a  protesting  gesture.  "  Pshaw !  " 

"Oh,  yes,  you  did.  And  why?  Why? — if  you  don't 
care » 

A  long  silence  followed.  During  it  she  watched  him, 
her  very  attitude  imploring,  while  he  continued  to  pace. 

All  at  once  he  stopped  determinedly.  "  There's  a  rea- 
son," he  said,  "  why  I  can't  do  what  you  ask :  Come  to 
see  Marylyn,  and — and  all  that." 

"Dad?  Ah,  he's  got  to  think  like  me." 

*  No  ;  not  your  father." 

"  Maybe  " — the  bitterness  of  Mrs.  Cummings'  slight 
Impelled  it — "  maybe  you  don't  think  she's  good  enough." 

"  Dallas !  No !  No !  "  He  put  out  a  hand  to  her. 

She  retreated. 

"  There's  a  reason."  He  let  his  arm  fall.  "  And  it  is 
fair  and  square.  I'm  proud  of  it,  too,  and  you  must  hear 
it."  His  tone  was  significant,  tender. 


The  Awakening  189 

No  hint  of  his  meaning  suggested  itself  to  her.  "  Then 
I  want  to  know  it,"  she  said. 

"  I  didn't  intend  to  tell  you,"  he  began,  "  at  least  for  a 
while.  When  I  was  at  the  shack  last  I  made  up  my  mind 
it  wouldn't  do  any  good.  I  said  to  myself,  '  You  keep 
quiet.'  But  " — he  plucked  off  his  hat  and  sent  it  whirling 
to  the  gun — "  I  guess  you'll  have  to  know  now.  Dallas, 
the  reason — is  you." 

"  Me  ?  "  The  question  was  a  cry. 

Lounsbury  waited,  standing  very  still  before  her.  Then 
reaching  out  again,  he  touched  her  hand.  "  You,"  he  said 
quietly. 

Again  she  retreated. 

"  Please  don't  go,"  he  begged.  "  I  want  to  tell  you 
more.  And  I  want  you  to  say  you  believe  me.  You  must 
believe  me." 

There  was  another  long  silence.  Presently  he  went  back 
and  picked  up  his  hat  and  gun.  "  I  know  just  where  it 
puts  you,"  he  said.  "  But,  just  the  same,  I  love  you." 

He  was  certain  now  that  he  had  earned  her  displeasure. 
When  he  spoke  again,  it  was  as  one  who  accepts  a  sad 
finality.  "  I  love  you,  and  I  want  you.  I  hoped  you  might 
think  a  little  of  me  some  day.  For  I  believe  I  could  make 
you  happy.  So  it  was  disappointing  to  find  out  that  you 
hadn't  thought  of  me  that  way;  that  you  were  figuring 
on  seeing  me  take  Marylyn. 

"  I  never  had  much  idea  of  marrying.  But  when  I  saw 
you  that  first  time,  when  you  came  in  through  the  door, 
you  remember — why,  then,  I  began  to  think.  Couldn't 
help  it."  He  put  on  his  hat  and  lifted  the  gun  to  his 
shoulder.  "  I  even  wrote  mother  about  you,"  he  said. 


190  The  Plow-Woman 

He  was  unprepared  for  the  answer  she  gave  him,  for 
it  was  an  answer.  Without  speaking,  she  buried  her  face 
in  the  curve  of  her  arm,  and,  as  if  seized  with  an  ague, 
began  to  tremble. 

"  Dallas,"  he  whispered  tenderly.  "  Oh,  my  dear  girl ! 
I'm  so  glad !  so  glad!  You  will — you  do  ?  " 

But  he  found  himself  pleading  into  space. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 
THE    SMOKING    MOUNTAIN 

MEDICINE  MOUNTAIN  was  a  volcano.  Out 
of  its  rocky  summit  and  into  the  quiet  air 
of  the  May  morning  was  rising  a  straight, 
blue  column  of  smoke. 

A  flag  wigwagged  from  the  southern  lookout  station 
to  herald  the  phenomenon,  and  in  a  moment  the  post  was 
agog.  Keen-sighted  scouts  hurried  to  points  of  vantage, 
where  they  studied  the  mounting  plume.  Far-reaching 
glasses  were  trained  amid  lively  surmise  from  the  galleries 
fronting  the  parade.  While  at  barracks,  blocking  the 
windows  and  thronging  the  porch,  the  eager  troopers 
gossiped  and  craned. 

But  in  the  stockade  interest  reached  its  highest  pitch. 
Braves,  squaws,  and  children  were  strung  along  the  upper 
end  of  the  enclosure,  breathlessly  watching  the  vapour- 
thread.  Each  swarthy  face  had  dropped  the  mask  of  list- 
lessness ;  each  figure  was  rooted.  Not  an  eye  forsook  a 
straight  line  to  the  belching  mountain-top. 

For  full  three  minutes,  the  distant  fire  sent  up  a  steady 
pillar.  Then,  fort  and  stockade  saw  that  pillar  suddenly 
wobble,  as  if  caught  in  the  vagaries  of  a  fitful  breeze — 
saw  it  wobble,  thicken,  break,  and  disappear;  when  the 
butte  again  stood,  a  jagged  tooth,  against  the  sky. 

191 


192  The  Plow-Woman 

Above  it,  innocently  white,  floated  a  hand's  breadth  of 
cloud. 

And  now  the  trumpet  rang.  Obeying  it,  two  detach- 
ments mounted.  One  spurred  away  down-river,  keeping 
close  in  the  lee  of  the  bluffs.  The  other  boarded  the  ferry 
and  was  landed  at  the  cut  north  of  Shanty  Town,  from 
where  it  made  toward  the  Norwegian's.  Behind,  an  envious, 
but  feverishly  happy,  garrison  set  about  putting  an  extra 
polish  on  its  arms.  The  grass  was  too  short  for  a  war- 
pony.  Active  duty  had  not  been  expected  within  the 
month.  Yet  the  time  of  dreary  waiting  was  up  at  last. 
For  here,  within  striking  distance,  were  the  hostile  reds ! 

The  warriors  in  the  stockade  knew  better.  Like  so  many 
whipped  dogs,  they  were  scattered  to  cover,  there  to  hide 
their  bitter  chagrin.  No  war-party  was  come  to  harry 
Brannon,  to  lure  the  troopers  into  battle,  to  free  the  cap- 
tive village.  A  lone  Indian — the  looked-for  messenger — 
had  fanned  that  signal-fire  on  the  mountain.  And,  by  a 
wave  of  his  blanket,  he  had  told  them  evil  news ! 

To  Colonel  Cumrnings,  the  seeming  early  boldness  of 
the  enemy  gave  an  inkling  of  what  might  be  expected 
later  on — in  the  summer — when  there  would  be  good  graz- 
ing, and  a  smaller  force  at  the  post.  Already  he  feared 
for  the  safety  of  the  settlers  living  within  sight  of  the 
garrison  flag.  The  detachment  landed  at  the  cut  was 
ordered  to  warn  two  of  them.  The  third  was  Evan  Lan- 
caster. To  him  the  commanding  officer  sent  David  Bond. 

But  it  was  Dallas  whom  the  evangelist  sought.  He 
found  her  at  work  upon  the  plowed  strip,  cross-drag- 
ging it  in  preparation  for  the  planting  of  the  corn.  As 
she  drove  up  and  down,  she  walked  hatless  in  the  sun.  Her 


The  Smoking  Mountain  193 

hair  was  down,  and  hung  forward  in  two  braids.  She  wore 
the  snug  jersey  that  had  been  her  mother's.  Her  skirt 
was  tucked  up,  back  and  front,  to  be  out  of  the  way.  It 
disclosed  no  red  flannel  petticoat,  however. 

Not  far  away  was  Simon,  a  starling  riding  him  to  gobble 
the  greenheads  as  they  bit.  The  bull  was  revolving  sulkily 
on  his  picket-rope,  and  shedding  his  long  winter  coat  upon 
the  new  grass.  In  deference  to  his  inborn  dislike,  Dallas 
was  wearing  an  underskirt  of  blue. 

Though  the  evangelist  had  never  seen  her  trudging 
behind  the  mules,  he  had  often  spoken  of  it  pityingly. 
Yet,  as  he  came  toward  her  now,  he  felt  only  an  unbounded 
pride — in  her  unselfishness,  and  in  her  brave  efforts  to 
wrest  a  living  from  the  soil. 

"  A  splendid  Ruth,"  he  murmured,  advancing,  "  a 
splendid  Ruth,  toiling  in  the  fields ! " 

Seeing  him,  she  gave  a  swift,  troubled  glance  at  the 
shack.  Then,  avoiding  his  eyes,  and  without  speaking, 
she  pulled  up  Ben  and  Betty  and  held  out  a  hand. 

When  he  took  it,  the  pride  of  a  moment  before  changed 
to  compassion.  He  remembered  that  he  must  tell  her  what 
would  alarm.  For  in  her  face  he  saw  the  traces  of  many  a 
sleepless  night,  and  of  a  sapping  worry. 

"  Daughter,  you  are  ill !  "  he  declared,  and  kept  a  tight 
hold  on  her  fingers. 

"  No,  there  ain't  anything  the  matter  with  me.  Only  " — 
still  avoiding  his  eyes,  she  turned  to  survey  the  harrowed 
land — "  only,  I'm  some  put  out.  This  sod 

"  Never  mind  the  sod,"  he  said  gravely.  "  I  want  to 
ask — did  you  see  the  mountain  ?  "  He  loosed  her  fingers, 
and  pointed  an  arm  to  the  south. 


194  The  Plow-Woman 

She  laughed,  following  his  pointing.  "  Yes,  I  did. 
Looks  as  if  claims  are  getting  scarce,  don't  it?  When  a 
nester  has  to  file  up  there !  " 

Midway  between  shack  and  butte  was  an  ox-team  that 
had  been  travelling  to  and  fro  across  a  quarter-section 
since  dawn.  The  team  was  now  at  a  stand,  and  their  driver 
was  slouching  against  his  plow.  Beyond  him  were  sev- 
eral galloping  dots. 

"  And  you  saw  the  cavalry  ?  "  said  David  Bond. 

She  assented. 

"  One  word  will  tell  you  what  it  means,  Dallas.  It's 
Indians ! " 

She  showed  no  sign  of  disquiet.  Presently,  when  she 
had  thought  over  the  announcement,  she  turned  round  to 
him,  frankly  meeting  his  gaze  for  the  first  time.  "  That's 
funny,"  she  said.  "  Why,  last  year,  all  the  way  up  from 
Texas,  there  wasn't  an  Indian  bothered  us !  " 

"  Last  summer,  before  you  came,  the  soldiers  at  Brannon 
did  not  dare  go  more  than  a  mile  outside  the  lines  to  hunt. 
It  will  be  the  same  this  summer.  There  is  that  stockade 
full  of  prisoners,  and  four  of  them  are  condemned  to  be 
hanged.  Before  long  the  Indians  will  be  circling  the 
post." 

She  looked  away  at  the  ox-team.  They  were  being  taken 
from  the  plow  and  put  to  a  wagon. 

Then,  again,  she  turned  squarely.  "  What  about  Shanty 
Town?  "  she  said  with  meaning. 

He  understood.  "  Shanty  Town  goes  when  the  troops 
go.  But  " — hesitatingly — "  Matthews  does  not.  He  will 
stay  at  Brannon  to  act  as  interpreter." 

"  He  will !  "  she  said,  and  coloured. 


The  Smoking  Mountain  195 

He  coloured,  too,  feeling  himself  reproved.  But  from 
under  the  wide,  battered  felt  that  had  supplanted  the 
nubia,  his  eyes  shone  with  no  resentment,  only  fatherly 
tenderness. 

"  You  wonder  why  I  do  not  remain,"  he  began,  "  so  that 
Matthews  could  be  sent  away.  I  shall  tell  you." 

She  let  the  reins  fall  to  the  drag.  "  That  isn't  it,"  she 
answered  quickly.  "  We  have  no  right  to  ask  you  to  do 
anything  after  the  way  dad  treated  you.  But  the  Colonel 
sent  you  over  to  tell  us  to  look  out.  Didn't  he?  And  he 
keeps  a  man  over  there — pays  him  to  stay — and  that  man 
is  a  sight  worse  than  an  Indian ! " 

"  I  could  have  that  man  dismissed,"  he  said  slowly. 
"  Please  let  me  tell  you  why  I  don't.  In  the  first  place,  the 
Indians  are  beginning  to  act  badly — very  badly.  They  are 
invading  Crow  territory,  and  stealing  from  peaceful  bands. 
They  are  molesting  whites  wherever  they  can  find  them, 
and  murdering.  So  we  can  judge  that  there  will  be  hard 
fighting.  For  the  troops  will  seek  to  pay  them  up. 

"  Oh,  Dallas,  how  I  pray  to  see  trouble  stop !  I  am 
going  to  the  Indians.  I  know  their  leaders — have  known 
them  for  ten  years  or  more.  I  shall  ask  them  to  consider 
the  good  of  their  squaws  and  children  and  property,  and 
ask  them  to  accept  reservation  life.  If  they  won't,  I  shall 
beg  a  few  of  them  to  come  in  with  me  and  at  least  talk 
treaty. 

"  That  is  the  first  reason  for  my  going.  The  second 
is  the  Jamiesons.  If  I  find  those  poor  women,  and  tell  their 
captors  that  the  four  chiefs  here  are  in  danger,  I  know 
mother  and  daughter  will  be  handed  over  to  me " 

"  You're  right !  You  can  save  them !  " 


196  The  Plow-Woman 

"  God  bless  you  for  saying  that !  It  won't  be  pleasant 
with  Matthews  here " 

"  But  you  must  go.  Never  mind  about  Matthews." 

"  I  cannot  go  without  being  satisfied  that  you  and 
Marylyn  will  be  safe.  The  Colonel  said 

"  The  Colonel,"  she  interrupted.  Then,  half  resentfully, 
"  Did  the  women  folk  send  any  word  ?  " 

He  was  mildly  surprised.  "  N-n-no,"  he  answered, 
"  they  didn't,  but " 

She  laughed,  and  picked  up  the  reins. 

"  Well,  dad  '11  never  leave  this  quarter,"  she  said  de- 
cisively, "  if  that's  what  the  Colonel  wants." 

The  evangelist  shook  his  head.  "  '  Thou  dwellest  in  the 
midst  of  a  rebellious  house,'  "  he  quoted  sadly.  "  Now,  if 
you  come  to  the  Fort  to  live — 

66  Matthews  could  move  into  the  shack." 

"  Hardly  that,  with  the  backing  you  have.  The  boys 
at  the  post  would  never  see  Matthews  take  your  home. 
Believe  me,  as  long  as  you  and  your  father  care  to  live 
here,  you  can.  Public  opinion  over  there  " — he  pointed 
to  Brannon — "  is  strong  in  your  favour.  And  there  is 
Lounsbury,  too.  Why,  that  man  is  helpless." 

She  averted  her  face. 

"  So  you  will  lose  nothing  by  coming  to  the  Fort," 
he  persisted,  "  while  you  may  save  a  great  deal — your 
lives !  " 

"  Dad  will  never  go  to  the  Fort.  He  hates  'em  like 
poison." 

"  Yes — yes — he's  foolish  and  stiffnecked.  For  such  is 
punishment  meted  out.  See !  "  The  ox-team  was  travelling 
toward  them,  prodded  by  the  driver. 


The  Smoking  Mountain  197 

They  stood  in  silence  for  a  while. 

"  Then,  go  to  Bismarck,"  urged  David  Bond,  finally. 
"  Stay  there  until  the  autumn." 

"  Live  on  what?  "  she  asked. 

From  a  hind  pocket  he  slowly  brought  forth  a  narrow 
buckskin  pouch,  tied  with  a  thong.  He  opened  it,  and 
emptied  a  handful  of  coins  upon  a  palm.  "  This  is  only 
a  little,"  he  said  apologetically.  "  But  it  will  help.  And 
— you  must  think  first  of  your  safety." 

"  I  can't  take  it,"  she  said,  her  voice  all  gentleness. 
"  Even  if  I  did — what  about  next  winter?  I  must  stay 
and  raise  things.  Don't  you  see?  " 

"  At  Bismarck  you  would  have  a  double  market,  Dallas. 
There  is  Fort  Lincoln,  and  the  town." 

"  I'd — I'd  have  to  plow  new  ground,"  she  went  on. 
"  And — we'd  have  to  build  again,  and  dig  another 
well " 

"  There  are  men  in  Bismarck  who " 

Suddenly  she  lowered  her  voice  and  stepped  nearer. 
"  That's  just  the  reason  dad  wouldn't  go  there,"  she  said. 
"  We'd  be  close  to  town.  We'd  have  to  meet  folks.  Here, 
he  keeps  away  from  the  Fort,  and  you,  and  Mr.  Lounsbury 
— everyone  but  Charley." 

"  Oh — oh — oh,"  breathed  the  evangelist,  helplessly. 

"  Now,  you  know.  It's  no  use.  I  don't  complain.  But, 
he's  fastened  to  the  Bend  with  a  diamond  hitch !  " 

"  Now,  I  know !  "  David  Bond  exclaimed. 

A  halloo  sounded  from  the  shack.  Facing  that  way  they 
saw  the  section-boss.  He  was  standing  just  outside  the 
door,  balanced  on  one  crutch.  The  other  he  was  thrusting 
angrily  at  the  ground. 


198  The  Plow-Woman 

"  You  see !  "  said  Dallas.  "  You  see !  And  he  can't  help 
it.  Poor  dad !  " 

'The  evangelist  groaned  and  held  out  a  hand.  "  Dear 
girl,"  he  said,  "  it  is  good-by.  God  keep  you  all,  and 
God  help  me!  I  see  truly  that  you  are  tied;  that  I  can 
do  no  good.  The  Colonel  will  surely  take  care  that  you  are 
protected.  Lounsbury  and  Charles  will  watch.  I  must  go 
with  that  comforting  knowledge.  My  love  to  Marylyn — 
Good-by." 

She  steadied  her  voice  to  answer.  "  I  watch,"  she  said. 
"  I  don't  sleep  well,  so  it's  easy.  If  they  heard  a  gun  at 
Brannon " 

He  raised  his  hand  to  bless  her.  Then,  without  speak- 
ing again,  walked  slowly  away.  She  unhooked  the  tugs 
and  headed  the  mules  for  home. 

"  Wai,"  called  her  father,  sarcastically,  as  she  ap- 
proached, "  what's  thet  ol'  sniffler  want  ?  Is  day  aft'  t'- 
morrow  th'  en'  o'  th'  world  ?  " 

She  ignored  his  questions,  and  told  him  of  the  warning. 

Instantly,  his  anger  rose.  Planting  himself  before  her, 
he  shook  a  finger  close  to  her  face.  "  So  th'  Kunnel's 
tryin'  t'  skeer  us,  is  he?"  he  demanded.  "  Tryin'  t'  git 
us  t'  come  in  an'  leave  th'  Ben'.  Wai! — ain't  we  right 
under  his  nose?  Kain't  he  watch  out  fer  us?  Wat's  he 
here  fer?  Wat's  he  paid  fer?  " 

Then,  riding  in  on  the  tide  of  his  wrath,  came  dark 
suspicion.  "An'  w'at's  he  so  crazy  t'  git  us  away  fer?" 
he  queried.  "  Yah !  yah !  Ah'd  like  t'  know — Ah  do  know ! 
He's  got  thet  low-down  card-sharp  of  a  Matthews  fer  his 
interpreter.  He  knows  thet  card-sharp  wants  this  Ian'. 
Thet's  his  game !  An"  he  hain't  fool  me!  " 


The  Smoking  Mountain  199 

"  Maybe,  maybe,"  said  Dallas,  leaving  him  to  stand 
beside  Marylyn.  "  But,  of  course,  dad,  we  mustn't  for- 
get that  he's  warned  the  other  folks  on  this  side,  too." 

Her  father  glared  at  her.  "  You  takin'  his  part,  ain't 
y'?"  he  said.  "M-m-m!  how  's  thet?  Are  you  so  all-fired 
anxious  t'  git  t'  Brannon?  " 

"  No,  dad,  I'll  never  go  to  Brannon.  Never !  never !  If 
I  did,  you,  my  father,  ought  n't  t'  misunderstand  it." 

He  quailed  before  her  vehemence,  and  hobbled  shame- 
facedly toward  the  door.  "  O'  course,  if  th'  Injuns 
come "  he  began. 

"They  won't."  She  drew  Marylyn  to  her.  "And  if 
they  do,  a  shot  '11  bring  help." 

He  was  in  the  doorway,  now.  "  W'y,"  he  cried,  "  here's 
thet  fool  Norwegian  goin'  t'  th'  landin'.  Wai,  he  is  pritty 
shy  on  sand ! " 

"  We'll  be  killed  if  the  Indians  come,  Dallas."  It  was 
Marylyn,  whispering  up  fearfully  to  her  sister. 

"  We'll  be  careful,  honey.  Keep  away  from  the  coulee 
after  this.  Walk  toward  Brannon,  always." 

Dallas  spent  the  afternoon  out  of  doors,  where  every- 
thing spoke  of  peace.  Not  even  a  hand's  breadth  of  cloud 
floated  upon  the  sky.  The  air  was  warm,  and  fragrant  with 
the  new  growth.  Magpies  chattered  by.  The  bobolinks 
sent  up  their  hearty  song. 

When  she  left  off  work,  she  saw  the  settler  from  the 
"  little  bend  "  drive  by  with  his  wife  and  children.  Going 
home,  she  found  her  father  cleaning  and  caressing  the 
Sharps.  But  in  her  ability  to  sense  danger,  as  in  her  love 
of  the  gloaming,  Dallas  was  like  a  wild  thing.  And  she 
felt  not  the  slightest  disquiet. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
AL  BRADEN  OF  SIOUX  FALLS 

MIDWAY   of  the   even,  broad   expanse  between 
shack  and  gap  stood  an  A-tent,  very  new,  very 
white,   and  very  generous  in  dimension.   Like 
a  giant  mushroom,  it  had  cropped  forth  during 
the  night.   About  it  stretched  the  untouched  prairie,  all 
purpling  over  with  morning-glories. 

The  tent  opened  toward  the  river,  and  was  flanked  on 
one  side  by  a  pile  of  short  pickets,  their  tops  dipped  the 
colour  of  the  canvas,  their  bases  nicely  sharpened  for  the 
plotting  out  of  ground.  Near  by,  thrown  flat,  was  a  wide 
board  sign,  which  read,  in  staring  blue  letters: 

"AL   BRADEN,  REAL   ESTATE." 

It  was  well  on  toward  noon  before  the  tent  showed  life. 
Then  there  emerged  from  it  a  bulky  man  of  middle  age, 
who  dusted  at  his  high  boots  as  he  came,  stretched,  draw- 
ing his  long  coat  snug,  and  settled  an  elaborate  vest. 
He  completed  his  costume  by  donning  a  black  hat  that  was 
of  wool,  and  floppy.  Then,  thumbs  tucked  in  armholes, 
he  strolled  away  toward  the  Lancaster^. 

The  section-boss  and  his  daughters  were  lined  up  on  the 
warm  side  of  the  lean-to,  shading  their  faces  from  the  sun. 
When  the  comer  was  so  near  that  they  could  see  he  was 

200 


Al  Braden  of  Sioux  Falls  201 

strange  to  them,  Lancaster  gave  a  peremptory  wag  of  the 
head,  and  the  two  girls  disappeared  around  a  corner.  Their 
father  stayed  on  watch,  his  jaws  working  nervously  with 
the  ever-present  chew. 

The  burly  man  advanced  upon  the  lean-to.  "  Mornin', 
mornin',"  was  his  greeting.  He  made  several  swinging 
bows  at  Lancaster,  and  took  him  in  shrewdly  from  eyes 
that  were  round  and  close-set. 

The  section-boss  grunted. 

"  Lovely  day,"  observed  the  other,  with  a  bland  smile. 
He  changed  his  tack  a  little,  as  if  he  were  going  by. 

Lancaster  hobbled  along  with  him.  "  Y-a-a-s,"  he 
drawled.  "  Right  good.  Some  cool." 

The  stranger  agreed  by  another  series  of  swinging 
bows.  "  You  got  a  nice  place  here — nice  place,"  he  con- 
tinued affably.  He  loosened  one  thumb  with  a  jerk. 

"  Nice  'nough." 

The  man  halted  in  front  of  the  shack  and  looked  it  over. 
"  You're  a  Southern  gentleman,"  said  he,  "  by  your 
talk." 

"  Ah  am."  Lancaster  spoke  with  unfriendly  rising  in- 
flection. 

"  Well,  well."  A  hand  was  extended — a  fat  hand,  where 
sparkled  a  diamond.  "  Say,  now,  this  is  lovely,  lovely. 
I'm  a  Southerner  myself,  sir.  Put  it  there ! " 

The  section-boss  hesitated.  So  far,  Dakota  had  offered 
him  no  compatriot.  He  could  scarce  believe  that  one 
stood  before  him  now.  A  second,  then  he  gave  a  pleased 
grin.  "  Howdy,"  he  said.  "  Hope  y'  goin'  t'  settle  here- 
about." 

They  shook  heartily. 


202  The  Ploto- Woman 

"  Settle  due  east  of  you,  sir,"  was  the  answer.  "  My 
name's  Braden — Al  Braden.  I'm  from  Sioux  Falls." 

"Won't  y'  come  in?" 

"Tickled  t'  death!" 

They  entered  the  shack,  Lancaster  leading.  Dallas  and 
Marylyn  glanced  up  in  surprise  from  the  fireplace,  and 
arose  hastily. 

"  M'  gals,"  said  the  section-boss,  motioning  their  visitor 
to  a  bench. 

Braden  took  it,  with  more  swinging  bows,  and  a  sweep 
of  his  floppy  headgear.  "  Glad  t'  meet  you,"  he  smiled, 
"  Miss-a-a-a-  Miss ' 

"  Lancaster  's  they  name,"  prompted  the  section-boss, 
all  good  nature. 

" — Lancaster.   Glad  t'  meet  you  both." 

Dallas  nodded,  and  drew  her  sister  away  to  the  wagon- 
seat  in  the  corner. 

"  Jes'  fr'm  th'  Falls,  Ah  think  y'  said,"  began  their 
father,  hunting  his  tobacco  plug  along  the  mantel. 

"  Yep." 

"  Um.  Any — any  news  fr'm  down  thet  way  'bout  this 
part  o'  th'  country  ?  " 

Braden  fell  to  admiring  his  ring.  "  No,  sir,  no.  Didn't 
hear  nothin'  particular." 

The  section-boss  fidgeted.  "  S'pose  y'  know  they  's 
some  talk  'bout  a  railroad  comin'  this  way,"  he  said 
carelessly. 

"  Don't  go  much  on  that  talk.  Ten  years,  twenty  years 
— maybe.  Too  early  yet." 

Lancaster's  face  lengthened.  He  blinked  in  dismay. 

"  My  idea,"  went  on  Braden,  "  is  cows.  Goin'  t'  be  a  lot 


Al  Braden  of  Sioux  Falls  203 

of  money  in  'em,  sure  as  you're  alive.  Hear  Clark's  made 
a  good  thing  of  his'n." 

"  Cows !  "  said  Lancaster,  in  disgust.  "  Cows  don'  help 
a  country;  don'  raise  th'  price  o'  Ian'." 

"  Cows  or  no  cows,  your  place  here  's  worth  a  nice  little 
sum,"  protested  the  other,  condescendingly ;  "  hunderd, 
anyway." 

Lancaster  stared.  "  Hunderd !  "  he  cried.  "  You  got 
th'  grass  staggers.  Five  hunderd." 

Braden  pursed  his  lips,  his  thumbs  in  his  armholes 
again.  "  Three  hunderd  and  fifty,  say,"  he  compromised. 
"  I'd  be  willin'  t'  give  you  that." 

A  moment  since,  the  section-boss  had  been  downcast. 
Now,  he  guffawed.  "  Would  y'?  "  he  asked;  "  would  y'?  " 
There  was  a  sage  gleam  in  his  eye. 

"  I  would." 

Lancaster  sucked  his  teeth  importantly.  "  Y'  couldn' 
hev  it  a  cent  short  o'  seven  hunderd  an'  fifty,"  he 
declared. 

"  You'll  never  get  it,  sir,  never.  Five  hunderd  's  a 
spankin'  figger." 

"  Bah ! " 

"  Telling  you  what's  what.  There's  thousands  of  acres 
around  here  just  as  good  as  your'n  any  day  in  the  week. 
But  you  got  this  end  of  the  ford.  That  makes  a  little 
difference." 

"  Makes  'bout  fifteen  hunderd  dollars'  diff'rence." 

It  was  Braden's  turn  to  laugh.  "  My  friend,  you'll  hist 
to  two  thousand  pretty  soon,"  he  warned;  and  arose. 
"  Better  take  five  hunderd  and  fifty  when  it's  offered."  He 
flung  out  his  hands  as  if  he  were  feeding  hens. 


204  The  Plow-Woman 

Lancaster  got  up  with  him,  righteously  angry.  "  Say, 
you  ain't  no  South'ner,"  he  cried.  "  Jes'  a  slick  Yank.  Ah 
c'n  see  through  you  like  winda-pane !  " 

Braden  laughed  again,  tapping  the  shoulder  of  the 
section-boss.  "  You  ain't  wise,"  he  confided.  "  Farmin' 
out  here  with  cows  around  means  fences.  But  hang  on  if 
you  want  to.  It's  your  land."  He  ended  this  with  a  jovial 
slap,  and  made  for  the  door.  From  it,  he  could  see  the 
girls.  He  gave  them  a  magnificent  bow.  "  Mornin',  morn- 
in',"  he  said,  and  walked  out. 

Lancaster  went  back  to  the  hearth,  fairly  weak  with 
delight.  Dallas  and  Marylyn  joined  him.  "Wat  d'  y' 
think ! "  gurgled  their  father.  "  Say,  he  ain't  got  th' 
sense  he  ought  'a'  been  born  with !  " 

"  Don't  like  him,"  Dallas  declared. 

"  Pig  eyes,"  suggested  Marylyn. 

At  that  the  section-boss  calmed.  "  Wai,"  he  said,  "  he's 
as  good  anyhow  as  slop-over  soldiers." 

Meanwhile,  Braden  was  on  his  way  to  The  Trooper's 
Delight,  his  face  glum,  his  step  quick,  his  arms  cutting 
the  air  like  propellers.  When  he  lumbered  into  it,  he 
creaked  up  to  the  plank  bar  and  helped  himself  to  a  finger 
of  whisky.  Then  he  propped  himself  on  an  elbow  and  stood 
scowling  into  the  rear  of  the  room. 

From  the  gaming-table  sounded  the  raillery  of  a  dozen 
men.  Matthews  was  there,  heels  up,  hat  tipped  back,  a 
cigar  set  between  his  little  teeth. 

"  What  y'  givin'  us,"  cried  one  of  his  companions. 
"  You're  drunk,  Nick — plumb  drunk." 

Braden  listened,  turning  away.  An  advertisement  of 
brandy  hung  from  a  shelf  on  the  far  side  of  the  bar.  He 


Al  Braden  of  Sioux  Falls  205 

toyed  with  his  goblet,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  gaudy,  fly- 
specked  picture. 

"  I  ain't  drunk,"  Matthews  declared.  "  I  never  been 
drunk.  My  stomick  ain't  big  'nough  to  hold  the  reequissit 
amount." 

There  was  more  laughter.  The  interpreter,  well  pleased 
with  himself,  surveyed  his  audience,  pointing  the  cigar, 
now  up,  now  down,  so  that  its  glowing  end  threatened  to 
burn  his  shirt  collar,  or,  tilting  skyward,  all  but  singed 
what  there  was  of  a  tow  eyebrow. 

"  And  that  ain't  the  best  part  of  the  story,"  he  went 
on.  "  As  I  was  sayin',  not  a  darned  pound  of  ice  was  left 
in  Boston.  Well,  what  d'  y'  think  my  old  man  does?  He 
rents  the  fastest  coast-steamer  he  can  find.  Then,  he  goes 
'way  up  north  in  the  Atlantic  and  lays-to  with  his  weather 
eye  open.  Day  or  two,  long  comes  a'  iceberg  big  as  a 

house.  And  by  ,  he  hitches  to  it,  and  Boston  gits 

ice!" 

And  now,  like  a  ponderous  bobcat  descending  upon  its 
prey,  Braden  stole  soft-footed  across  the  room.  "  Nick !  " 
he  said.  His  jaws  came  together  with  the  click  of  a 
steel  trap. 

Matthews  lowered  his  heels.  "  Jumpin'  buffalo ! "  he 
cried  in  amazement.  "  Al  Braden !  Where  'd  you  come 
from  ?  "  He  took  the  other's  hand,  at  the  same  time  pull- 
ing him  slowly  toward  the  door.  Away  from  the  crowd, 
they  brought  up. 

"  Well,  you're  a  nice  one ! "  was  Braden's  answer. 
"  You're  a  nice  one !  Lettin'  that  Bend  slip  through  your 
fingers !  " 

All  the  interpreter's  cocksureness  was  gone.  He  threw 


206  The  Plow-Woman 

the  cigar  into  the  sand-box  under  the  stove,  and  looked  on 
the  verge  of  following  it. 

"  Say,  you  talk  of  fleecin',"  taunted  Braden.  "  Why, 
you  been  skinned  clean  's  a  whistle !  And  by  a'  old  fool 
duffer  from  Texas !  " 

"  I  was  at  Dodge  when  he  come,"  snarled  Matthews, 
finding  his  voice. 

"  What  you  go  streakin'  off  to  Dodge  for,  after  the  tip 
I  give?  " 

"  Well,  no  one  here  was  talkin'  railroad.  So  I,  well, 
I " 

Braden  addressed  the  ceiling,  his  fat  hands  outspread. 
"  No  one  here  was  talkin'  railroad,  no  one  here  was  talk- 
in'  railroad  ?  "  he  mimicked. 

" — So  I  didn't  put  much  stock  in  your  letter." 

"  You  didn't,  eh  ? "  Braden  searched  a  coat-pocket, 
found  a  newspaper  clipping  and  thrust  it  under  Matthews' 
nose.  "  Well,  read  that." 

"  Read  it  yourself,"  said  Matthews.  "  You  know  blamed 
well " 

Braden  interrupted  him  by  beginning.  He  lowered  his 
voice,  and  intoned,  giving  the  interpreter  a  glance  designed 
to  wilt  him  with  the  words  that  called  for  stress: 

'  The  proposed  line  will  open  up  a  country  of  rich  grasses 
and  ground  and  of  unexcelled  hunting.  The  Indians,  while 
still  troublesome  beyond  the  Missouri,  are  rapidly  being 
brought  to  see  the  advisability  of  remaining  on  the  reserva- 
tions, and  little  more  annoyance  on  their  part  may  be  appre- 
hended. Fort  Brannon,  he  declares,  is  in  the  hands  of  several 
hundred  brave  fighting  men  and  may  be  looked  upon  as  a  place 
of  certain  refuge  in  case  of  an  outbreak.  The  soldiers  are 


Al  Braden  of  Sioux  Falls  207 

proving  to  be  such  a  menace  to  those  Indians  who  will  not 
agree  to  reservation  life,  that  whole  bands  of  the  more  savage 
redskins  are  leaving  for  the  Bad  Lands  and  the  rougher  coun- 
try farther  west.  No  Indian  war-parties  have  been  seen  east 
of  the  big  river  for  some  time.  Already  there  is  an  increasing 
interest  in  land  along  the  survey.  And  it  is  believed  that  when 
the  last  ties  of  the  new  line  are  laid  there  will  be  few  un- 
claimed quarter-sections  between  the  Big  Sioux  and  the 
Missouri.' 

"  There ! "  Braden  wound  up.  "  And  gradin'  began 
already  at  the  Mississippi." 

"  The  h— 1  you  say  !  " 

"Believe  me  now,  won't  you?  Didn't  they  have  a 
bsmkquit  with  champagney?  All  the  State  big-bugs,  head 
s&rveyor,  and  so  on?  " 

"Too  bad!" 

66  That's  what  I  say.  And  I'll  say  more.  Of  course,  we 
was  to  go  pardners  on  this  thing.  So  far,  so  good.  But 
here  you  ain't  did  your  half.  And  you  can't  kick  if  I 
deal  from  now  on  with  old  man  Lancaster." 

Matthews  understood.  "  By  ,  I  done  my  best,"  he 

cried.  "  Y'  can't  come  any  of  that  on  me,  Braden." 

"  Keep  on  your  shirt,  Nick,  keep  on  your  shirt.  I  looked 
into  this  thing  at  Bismarck,  and,  under  the  law,  you  ain't 
got  one  right.  Lancaster  owns  that  Bend.  And  if  I  pay 
him  out  of  my  own  money,  why  ain't  it  square?  " 

The  interpreter  hung  his  head. 

"  Of  course,"  Braden  went  on,  "  I'd  rather  divvy.  I 
can  see  he's  one  of  them  greedy  old  ducks  that's  hard  to 
talk  money  with.  Maybe  you  can  think  up  how  to  get  the 
land  back." 


208  The  Plow-Woman 

Matthews  leaned  close.  "  I  had  a  scheme," — he  nodded 
south  in  the  direction  of  Medicine  Mountain — "  but  the 
reds  can't  come.  I  had  t'  go  slow.  There's  women  in  th' 
f  ambly.  Nat'lly,  all  the  men  up  and  down  the  Muddy  want 
t'  see  Lancaster  stay.  There's  been  a  dude  fr'm  Bismarck 
here,  off  and  on — tony  cuss,  sleeps  between  sheets,  nice 
about  his  paws  as  a  cat.  He's  been  ready  t'  tattle  or  roll 
a  gun." 

Braden  sniffed.  "  What  trick  's  he  played?  " 

Matthews  evaded  the  question.  "  I  seen  one  of  the  Clark 
outfit,"  he  continued,  "  and  tried  t'  git  him  t'  bother  old 
limpy.  Says  I,  '  They  's  stealin'  your  slow-elk  down  there.' 
Wasn't  any  use.  '  Thunderation ! '  says  the  cowpunch. 
4  You  mean  that  bull?  He  was  a  yearlin'  when  he  come  to 
'em.  That's  maverick  age.'  " 

Braden  sneered.  "  Such  a  kid !  "  he  murmured.  "  Why 
didn't  you  lay  low,  and  not  go  butting  down  their  door? 
Why  didn't  you  lose  the  old  man  and  snub  up  one  of  the 
girls — marry  her?  Big  one's  a  rip-snortin'  beauty;  pert, 
by  jingo!  as  a  prairie-dog." 

"  She'd  send  me  a-flyin',"  urged  Matthews.  "  But  th' 
little  one " 

"  Sure !  You're  a  good-looker — handsome.  If  you'd  fix 
yourself  up  some." 

"If  I  could  git  rid  of  the  old  man!  If  I  could!  Aw! 
come  t'  think,  what  I  got  that  lout  of  a  brother  for?  Easy 
— with  Indians  to  lay  it  on.  Blaze  the  way  for  '  Babe ' — 
he's  a  saphead — but  he  knows  enough  to  follow  a  spotted 
line." 

"  Go  careful." 

"  I'll  try  t'  scare  'em  off." 


Al  Braden  of  Sioux  Falls  209 

"  Huh !  folks  that  ain't  afraid  to  come  this  far  in  a 
schooner,  Indians  or  no  Indians,  ain't  likely  to  stampede 
at  one  white." 

"  You  don't  know  how  I  mean." 

"Go  ahead.  'No  use  our  brayin'  like  starved  jackasses. 
Do  somethin'.  You  was  a  fool  to  ever  let  'em  winter." 

Matthews  clenched  his  fists.  "Well,"  he  said,  "they 
won't  winter  agaml  " 


CHAPTER    XX 
A   CHARGE 

DIVID  BOND  was  on  his  knees  in  the  bed  of  his 
wagon,   beneath   the   high   board   cross.  Before 
him  he  held  an  open  Bible.  But  he  was  not  read- 
ing.  His   head  was   uncovered.   His   beard   was 
lifted.  His  eyes  closed  in  prayer.  Beside  him  knelt  Squaw 
Charley,  with  hands  pressed  together,  as  if  reverent ;  with 
shoulders  bent  lower  than  their  wont;  with  shifting,  down- 
ward look.  North  of  the  barracks,  on  the  road  that  led  from 
the  steamer-landing,  the  two  had  met  in  the  early  hours  to 
say  good-by. 

Swift  on  the  first  hint  of  coming  trouble,  the  evangelist 
had  made  ready  for  his  long  journey  to  the  west.  Shad- 
rach  was  shod,  his  master  fitting  the  plates  to  the  shaggy 
hoofs.  The  runners  were  taken  from  the  green  box  and 
replaced  by  the  red  wheels.  Canned  food,  salted  meat,  hard- 
tack, and  forage  were  boxed  or  sacked  at  the  sutler's.  The 
harness  was  greased.  A  new  nail  was  driven  home  through 
the  base  of  the  sagging  cross. 

During  these  preparations,  the  post  joined  in  an  effort 
to  damp  the  aged  preacher's  hopes  and  to  check  his  going. 
He  was  needed  at  Brannon,  they  said,  so  that  the  regiment 
could  be  rid  of  Matthews.  His  belief  that  he  could  talk 
peace  terms  to  the  hostiles  was  ludicrous.  As  for  the 
Jamieson  women,  they  were  dead,  or  they  would  have  been 
returned  long  since  to  save  the  four  condemned  from  hang- 

210 


A  Charge  211 

ing.  And  his  own  life  was  to  be  uselessly  endangered. 
Already,  out  upon  the  prairie,  Indian  scouts  were  keep- 
ing watch.  He  might  be  able,  though  alone  and  unarmed, 
to  pass  them  and  reach  the  coulees  beyond.  But  he  would 
only  fall  into  the  murderous  clutches  of  the  savages  swarm- 
ing there. 

David  Bond  smiled  when  they  argued.  His  faith  was  as 
firm  as  the  bluffs  that  ramparted  the  fort,  and  his  old 
heart  was  unafraid.  With  him,  against  the  rest,  ranged 
two  men — Robert  Fraser  and  young  Jamieson.  They  be- 
lieved, as  he  did,  that,  knowing  the  tongue,  and  having 
friends  among  the  Sioux,  he  would  be  in  no  peril ;  that,  by 
now,  the  captive  mother  and  daughter  were  on  American 
ground  again,  and  would  be  given  over  to  his  care  more 
readily  than  to  another's ;  that  the  arrival  of  troops  before 
the  enemy's  camp  would  be  fraught  with  risk  for  the 
defenceless  two;  and  that  an  attempt  to  take  them  by 
force  would  be  their  death-signal. 

Colonel  Cummings  was  harrowed  by  Jamieson's  months 
of  anguish  and  illness,  and  angered  by  the  indifference  and 
dawdling  of  the  captors  in  the  face  of  his  demand  and 
threat.  His  heart  was  set  upon  punishment,  now,  not  treaty. 
He  felt  that  he  was  being  played  with.  And  he  longed  to 
find  the  red  Sioux  and  thrash  them  soundly.  A  word  about 
the  evangelist's  trip  put  him  out  of  patience.  He  regarded 
it  as  futile  and  rash.  Yet  he  did  not  forbid  it — he  dared 
not.  For  there  was  Jamieson's  old-young  face  and  whiten- 
ing head ;  and  a  hidden  spark  of  hope  that  would  not  die. 

He  owed  it  to  his  conscience  and  position,  however,  to 
discourage  David  Bond.  "  There  will  be  sharp  fighting 
this  summer,"  he  told  him.  "  A  hundred  good  men  like  you 


212  The  Plow-Woman 

couldn't  stop  it.  The  cause  lies  too  deep,  and  it  is  too  well 
founded.  In  the  matter  of  the  women,  you  will  also  fail. 
They  did  not  come  as  the  price  of  four  chiefs.  Will  they 
come  because  you  ask  for  them  politely  ?  They  won't.  And 
you  will  be  slaughtered." 

"  Then  I  shall  die  in  a  noble  cause,"  answered  the 
preacher,  simply.  "  The  Indians  know  me.  I  am*  their 
friend.  I  have  spent  my  life  with  them,  taught  them,  ad- 
vised, converted.  What  is  all  my  labour  worth,  Colonel,  if 
I  cannot  go  among  them  in  times  of  distress  ?  " 

"  Worth  this,"  said  the  colonel,  "  that  you  should 
know  when  to  use  your  common  sense.  I  tell  you,  you  will 
meet  with  treachery.  Friend,  or  no  friend,  this  year  the 
Indians  are  hunting  scalps." 

"  I  put  my  trust  in  God,"  murmured  David  Bond. 

"  Don't  put  your  trust  in  redskins,"  retorted  Cummings, 
crossly.  Whereupon  he  tramped  away. 

"  Waste  of  breath — nothing  else,"  he  declared  to  his 
wife.  "  I'm  clean  put  out  with  the  old  fellow.  He's  daft 
on  going.  Now,  why  doesn't  he  stay  here,  instead  of  stick- 
ing his  throat  to  the  knife?  There's  plenty  to  do.  But, 
no.  Off  he  must  rush  on  a  wild-goose  chase.  Well,  he'll  have 
one,  mark  that!  He's  either  ripe  for  an  insane  asylum  or 
he's  a  religious  adventurer — and  I'm  hanged  if  I  know 
which!" 

It  was  the  bluster  that  covers  an  aching  wound;  that 
is  a  vent  for  outraged  helplessness.  And  David  Bond 
understood. 

When  he  asked  leave  to  address  the  stockade,  the  com- 
manding officer  willingly  consented.  The  attitude  of  the 
hostages  on  that  occasion  startled  and  disturbed  the  whole 


A  Charge  213 

post.  For  the  evangelist  might  as  well  have  harangued  the 
cottonwood  grove  across  the  river.  He  asked  the  braves 
for  messages  to  their  brothers.  By  way  of  reply,  they  got 
up,  one  after  the  other,  from  where  he  had  found  them, 
grouped  in  the  sun  before  the  council-tent,  and  strolled 
insolently  to  their  lodges.  Soon  he  was  discoursing  to 
empty  space,  and  to  a  line  of  squaws  who  threw  him  malig- 
nant glances  and  jeered  at  him.  He  left,  surprised,  sad- 
dened, but  unshaken. 

Impudence,  bold  hatred,  and  defiance — these  were  follow- 
ing the  smoke  from  Medicine  Mountain.  They  formed  a 
cue  that  pointed  to  one  fact:  The  prisoners  were  disap- 
pointed. They  had  been  expecting,  not  peace  and  reserva- 
tion life,  but  freedom  and  battle. 

David  Bond  felt  a  double  need  for  his  quick  departure 
and  his  services  among  the  gathering  war-bands.  He 
hastened  his  few  remaining  tasks  and  set  the  day  for  the 
start.  Now,  the  day  was  come.  His  farewells  had  been  said 
at  the  shack  and  at  headquarters.  Breakfast  over  and 
Shadrach  put  to  the  shafts,  he  would  take  his  way  up  the 
river.  But  first  there  must  be  laid  upon  Squaw  Charley 
a  final  and  a  solemn  charge. 

The  prayer  finished,  he  put  out  a  hand  and  touched  the 
Indian.  Then  he  opened  his  tear-blurred  eyes  and  looked 
at  him,  his  face  softening  and  working.  The  Squaw  did  not 
budge.  His  palms  were  still  pressed  tight.  He  blinked  at 
the  wagon-bed. 

"  Charles,"  said  the  evangelist,  earnestly,  "  you  and  I 
love  the  little  family  over  yonder.  They  have  been  good 
and  kind.  I  want  you  to  watch  over  them  while  I  am  gone, 
and  be  faithful  to  them.  The  father  is  crippled  and  weak, 


214  The  Plow-Woman 

and  he  has  no  friends.  Charles,  you  must  be  a  friend  to 
him,  and  to  the  girls.  No  matter  what  happens,  do  not  fail 
them.  There  will  be  another  guarding.  Guard  with  him. 
Something  may  call  him  away;  someone  may  kill  him. 
Take  his  place.  If  danger  comes,  tell  of  it  at  the  Fort. 
Do  you  promise,  Charles  ?  do  you  promise  ?  "  He  leaned 
forward,  entreating. 

The  outcast  moved  from  side  to  side  uneasily. 

"  Promise,  promise,"  said  David  Bond.  "  You  must  give 
up  anything  for  them,  even  your  life.  Remember  that — 
even  your  life.  I  have  told  you  often,  and  you  have  not 
forgot :  '  Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this,  that  a  man 
lay  down  his  life  for  his  friends.'  " 

Again  the  Indian  moved  uneasily. 

"'For  his  friends,'"  repeated  the  evangelist.  "Ah! 
they  have  been  your  friends !  "  He  put  his  fingers  beneath 
The  Squaw's  chin  and  lifted  it.  The  two  looked  long  into 
each  other's  eyes.  Then  they  arose  and  parted. 

Later,  when  the  last  buckle  of  Shadrach's  harness  was 
fixed,  David  Bond  climbed  to  the  seat  and  took  up  the 
reins.  A  score  of  troopers  about  the  head  of  the  white 
horse  stepped  aside  and  formed  a  little  lane.  Here  and 
there,  a  man  reached  up.  Here  and  there,  too,  were  awk- 
ward attempts  at  wit.  "  Hope  y'  've  made  yer  will,  parson," 
called  one.  "  Look  out  them  locks  o'  yourn  don't  go  t'  trick 
out  some  big  buck,"  admonished  a  second.  "  Good-by," 
cried  a  third,  saluting  with  great  formality ;  "  tell  ol'  St. 
Peter  he'll  git  a  bunch  of  us  some  time  this  summer." 

To  ah1,  the  evangelist  returned  his  blessing. 

The  interpreter  shoved  forward  through  the  growing 
crowd  and  made  a  show  of  friendliness.  "  Gran'pa,"  he  said, 


A  Charge  215 

"  you're  pritty  game,  all  right.  Most  old  war-hosses  like 
you'd  be  stayin'  home  and  enjoyin'  their  pension." 

David  Bond  threw  up  his  head  resentfully.  "  Pension," 
he  said,  and  shot  a  searching  look  into  Matthews'  face. 
"  I  am  not  a  man  who  sells  his  principles  for  money.  What 
I  give  to  my  country,  I  give  free." 

The  crowd  cheered  him,  swinging  their  caps. 

Then  there  was  a  hush.  A  shrunken  figure  was  hurrying 
up,  stretching  out  thin  hands  to  detain  him.  No  one  scoffed 
now.  But  one  stout  trooper  put  an  arm  about  Jamieson 
to  steady  him  while  he  talked. 

"  Mr.  Bond,  the  Colonel  thinks  I  oughtn't  to  go  with 
you.  He  wants  me  to  wait  for  the  ambulance.  But  he's 
fooling — he's  fooling.  He  means  me  to  stay  behind,  and 
I  know  it.  So  I've  come  to  say  that  I  look  to  you  to  find 
mother  and  Alice.  Tell  them  to  hurry.  For  I  can't  stand 
this — long."  The  grey  head  dropped  to  the  trooper's 
shoulder. 

"  Jamieson,"  said  the  evangelist,  "  if  God  spares  my  life 
I  shall  meet  your  mother  and  sister.  I  shall  cheer  them  and 
help  them.  I  believe  I  shall  save  them.  If  they  are  given 
to  me,  I  shall  come  straight  back.  Do  not  go  with  the 
command.  Stay  behind,  Jamieson.  I'll  bring  them  to  you." 

"  I'll  stay,  then.  I  believe " 

The  preacher  smiled  down,  and  to  every  side.  Then  he 
clucked  to  Shadrach.  The  tugs  straightened.  The  wagon 
rolled  slowly  out  of  the  post. 

The  sunlight  shone  upon  the  green  bo*"  and  the  red 
wheels,  and  upon  the  staunch  old  driver,  who  never  once 
looked  back.  Above  him,  emblem  of  the  sublime  Martyr, 
sagged  the  high  board  cross. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
A  MEETING  BY  THE  FORD 

UNDER  the  cottonwoods  that  shadowed  the  land- 
ing-place, the  clematis  trailed  its  tufts  of  fluffy 
grey;  a  cluster  of  wind-flowers  nodded,  winking 
their  showy  blue  eyes;  birds  whisked  about  to 
fetch  straws  and  scraps  for  their  building ;  and  the  grass, 
bright  green,  but  stubby,  wore  a  changing  spatterwork  of 
sun  and  leaf. 

Marylyn  let  drop  her  bonnet  and  the  cow-horn  that  hung 
by  a  thong  to  her  wrist.  Then,  with  folded  hands,  she 
looked  up  and  around  her,  sniffing  the  warm  air  in  delight. 
The  Texas  home  had  never  offered  such  a  lovely  retreat. 
There,  the  arid  mesa  had  grown  thorny  mesquite,  scrag- 
gled  cypress,  or  stunted  live-oak  for  a  shade;  sand  had 
whirled  ceaselessly  before  a  high,  hot  wind ;  no  flowers  had 
bloomed  but  the  pale  toadflax  and  the  prickly-pear;  and 
beside  the  salt  lakes  of  that  almost  waterless  waste  had 
nested  only  the  vulture. 

But  this !  It  was  like  the  blossom-strewn  plain  that  burst 
upon  them  as,  desert-wearied,  they  travelled  into  Central 
Texas;  like  the  glimpses  of  April  woodland  in  the  Upper 
and  Lower  Cross  Timbers.  It  made  generous  return  for 
the  long,  merciless  winter;  more — in  one  glance,  in  one 
breath,  it  swept  away  a  whole  winter  of  hateful  memories ! 

She  caught  up  bonnet  and  horn  and  chose  a  seat  close 
to  the  river.  Before  her  was  a  gap  in  the  knotted  grape- 

216 


A  Meeting  by  the  Ford  217 

vine  heaps  that  clung  along  the  brink  of  the  bank ;  through 
it,  veiled  only  by  some  tendrils  that  swung  wishfully  across, 
lay  a  wedge-like  vista  of  muddy  water,  bottom-land,  bluff, 
and  sky.  The  mid-morning  sun  glinted  upon  the  treacher- 
ous current,  upon  the  wet  grass  of  the  bottom-land,  upon 
the  green-brown  bluff  and  the  Gatling  at  its  top,  upon  the 
far,  curving  azure  of  the  sky.  Against  the  dazzle,  her  blue 
eyes  winked  harder  than  the  breeze-tossed  anemones; 
stretching  out  upon  her  back,  she  rested  them  in  the  shift- 
ing canopy  of  foliage. 

A  startled  kingbird  flashed  past  her,  coming  from  a 
tree  by  the  cut.  She  got  up,  and  saw  a  man  in  uniform 
standing  near.  He  was  a  young  man,  with  a  flushed  face 
and  wildly  rumpled  hair.  In  one  hand  he  held  a  tasselled 
hat;  in  the  other,  a  rifle.  He  leaned  forward  from  behind 
a  bull-berry  bush,  and  his  look  was  guiltily  eager  and 
admiring. 

As  startled  as  the  kingbird,  she  grasped  the  cow-horn 
and  lifted  it  to  her  lips. 

But  she  did  not  blow  a  warning.  The  uniform  retreated 
in  cowardly  haste,  the  tasselled  hat  lowered,  and  the  eyes 
beseeched. 

A  moment.  Then,  the  man  smiled  and  shook  his  hat  at 
her  roguishly.  "A-ah!"  he  said — in  the  tone  of  one  who 
has  made  a  discovery — "  I  didn't  know  before  that  a  fairy 
lives  in  this  grove !  " 

Marylyn  glanced  over  a  shoulder.  "Does  there?"  she 
questioned,  half  whispering. 

He  took  a  forward  step.  "  There  does,"  he  answered 
solemnly.  "  It's  Goldenhair,  as  well  as  I  can  make  out. 
But  where  on  earth  are  the  bears?  " 


218  The  Plow-Woman 

Instantly,  she  had  her  bonnet.  "  My !  my !  "  she  said. 
"  Bears!  Indians  is  bad  enough."  She  peered  into  the  long 
heaps  of  tangled  grapevine. 

"  Oh,  now  !  "  he  exclaimed  self-accusingly.  He  whipped 
a  knee  with  the  hat.  "  Now,  I've  gone  and  scared  you ! 
Say,  honest !  There  isn't  a  bear  in  a  hundred  miles — I'd 
stake  my  stupid  head  on  it." 

"  But  Golden "  she  began. 

"  Goldenhair  ?  "  He  smiled  again,  by  way  of  entreaty. 
"  Why,  Goldenhair  is — you." 

She  clapped  on  her  bonnet  in  a  little  flurry,  pulling  it 
down  to  hide  the  last  yellow  wisp. 

Misunderstanding  the  action,  he  began  to  plead.  "  Oh, 
don't  go;  please  don't  go!  I've  wanted  to  meet  you  for 
months  and  months.  I've  heard  so  much  about  you — 
Lounsbury's  told  me." 

She  gave  him  a  quick  look  from  under  the  bonnet's  rim. 
"  Mr.  Lounsbury,"  she  repeated,  and  stiffened  her  lips. 

"  Yes." 

"  He  don't  know  much  about  me,  I  reckon.  He  ain't  been 
to  see  us  for  '  months  and  months.'  "  She  began  to  dig 
at  the  ground  with  the  toe  of  a  shoe. 

« Well— well "  he  floundered,  "  he's  been  awful 

rushed,  lately — needed  at  Clark's — there  now.  I  promised 
to — to  tend  to  his  business  here  for  him.  But  he  told  me 
about  you,  just  the  same,  and  about  your  sister,  too.  Say, 
but  she  is  a  brick !  " 

She  gave  him  another  look,  slightly  resentful,  but  inquir- 
ing. "What's  a  'brick'?"  she  demanded. 

"  It's  a  person  that's  all  grit,"  he  answered  earnestly. 

"  That's  Dallas,"  she  agreed. 


A  Meeting  by  the  Ford  219 

He  passaged  in  cavalry  fashion  until  he  was  between 
her  and  the  shack.  Then  he  assumed  a  front  that  was 
cautiously  humble.  "  Lounsbury's  had  the  best  of  it,"  he 
complained.  "  He's  known  you  right  from  the  start.  And 
this  is  the  first  chance  I've  ever  had  to  know  you." 

She  stopped  toeing.  "  But  I  don't  know  you,"  she  re- 
turned. "Mr.  Lounsbury's  never  told  me ' 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you :  I'm  Robert  Eraser,  from  the  Fort. 
That's  really  all  there  is  to  say  about  me.  You  see,  I've 
only  been  in  one  fight — that  was  last  fall — and  I've  never 
even  killed  an  Indian." 

She  pulled  nervously  at  her  bonnet-strings.  "  You're 
a  soldier,"  she  said.  "  And  pa — pa'd  be  mad  as  a  hornet 
if  he  knew  I'd  spoke  to  you." 

Fraser  took  another  step  forward.  "  Pa  won't  know," 
he  declared. 

"  Promise  you  won't  tell  ?  "  she  asked,  blushing  con- 
sciously. 

He  cast  about  him  as  if  to  find  a  proper  token  for  his 
vow.  "  I  promise,"  he  answered,  hat  on  heart ;  "  I  promise 
by  the  Great  Horn  Spoon ! " 

"  You're  the  first  I— I  ever  talked  to,"  she  faltered. 

"That's  good!" 

"  No,  it's  bad.  Because  I  promised  pa  once  that  I 
wouldn't  ever  have  anything  to  do  with  a  soldier.  And  now 
I'm  breaking  my  word." 

"  But  he's  dead  wrong " 

"  That's  what  Dallas  says." 

"  Does  she?  Bless  her  heart!  Then,  why  don't  you  both 
desert  and  come  over  to  the  enemy?  " 

"  Pa  says  you  are  enemy." 


220  The  Plow-Woman 

"  We  were,"  he  corrected  soberly.  "  But  the  war  is  over 
now." 

"  Maybe  it  is,"  she  said,  wistful,  "  but  pa  is  still 
a-fighting." 

"  And  Goldenhair's  drafted  when  she'd  rather  have 
peace.  Too  bad !  "  He  motioned  her  to  the  seat  by  the 
gap. 

"  I  can't,  I  mustn't,"  she  said,  and  moved  a  little  toward 
the  shack. 

"Then  I'll  go,"  he  said  firmly.  "I  didn't  mean  to 
drive  you  out  of  here."  He  also  moved — toward  the  land- 
ing-place. 

At  that,  she  assented,  fearful  of  hurting  his  feelings. 
But  she  could  think  of  nothing  to  say,  and  pulled  thought- 
fully at  the  grass. 

He  studied  the  farther  bluff-top  and  its  warding 
gun. 

"  Peace,"  he  repeated  after  a  time.  "  It's  a  thing  we're 
not  likely  to  have  this  summer.  And  you  folks  must  let  us 
watch  out  for  you,  no  matter  how  much  you  dislike  us. 
The  Indians  are  out  and  getting  ready.  They  say  there 
isn't  a  young  brave  left  on  any  of  the  reservations  up  this 
way.  They're  all  hunting — and  we  know  what  that  means. 
They're  collecting  and  arming  for  battle.  Our  troops 
go  to  find  them  at  daybreak.  See ! "  He  bent  forward, 
pointing. 

Below  the  stockade,  on  a  level  stretch  showing  yellow 
with  mustard,  where  grain  had  been  unshipped  the  year 
before,  stood  long,  grey-tented  rows. 

"  They've  moved  out  of  barracks  and  gone  into  tempo- 
rary camp." 


A  Meeting  by  the  Ford  221 

"  That  land  man  back  there's  moved  and  gone,  too." 
She  waited.  Then,  "  Are — are  you  going?  " 

He  shook  his  head.  "  I'm  scheduled  to  stay.  It  was  a 
disappointment;  but  I  expected  it.  I've  an  idea  B  Troop 
won't  be  idle  though." 

Her  brow  knit.  "  Indians?  "  she  asked. 

"  Your  being  on  this  side  of  the  river  assures  you  folks 
safety,"  he  hastened  to  say.  "  And  they  shan't  get  to  you 
while  B  Troop's  in  post." 

"  All  the  same,  I  wish  pa'd  let  Dallas  take  us  away." 

"  If  Indians  show  up,  you'll  all  come  to  the  Fort.  And 
I'd  like  that." 

"  No.  Pa  wouldn't  let  us.  He'd  die  first." 

"  And  so  maybe  I  shan't  see  you  again — unless  you  come 
here  some  day.  Do  you  think  that  you  can  ?  "  He  bent  to 
see  her  face.  The  bonnet  framed  it  quaintly. 

"  It's — it's  a  nice  place,"  she  asserted. 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  her.  "  I  shall  come,"  he  said 
gently.  "  But  now  I've  got  to  go." 

She  gave  him  her  hand.  He  got  to  his  feet  still  holding 
it,  and  helped  her  to  rise. 

"  Good-by,"  she  said  bashfully,  drawing  away. 

He  freed  her  hand.  "  You  don't  know  how  glad  I  am 
that  we've  met,"  he  said,  "  you  don't  know.  It's  been 
pretty  lonesome  for  me  since  I  came  out.  And  ^ou  are  a 
taste  of — of  the  old  life.  You're  like  one  of  those  prairie- 
flowers  that  have  escaped  from  the  gardens  back  home. 
You  sweeten  the  Western  air,  Miss  Marylyn." 

She  hung  the  cow-horn  to  her  wrist  and  turned  away. 
Overhead  the  heart-shaped  leaves  were  trembling  to  the 
rush  of  the  river.  Her  heart  trembled  with  them;  and  her 


222  The  Plow-Woman 

voice.  "  We  ain't  Eastern,"   she  said,  wistful  again.  "  I 

was  born  down  yonder  in  the  mesquite,  I "  She  paused, 

glancing  back  at  him. 

He  stood  as  she  had  seen  him  first.  His  face  was  flushed, 
his  uncovered  hair  was  rumpled.  In  one  hand  he  held  his 
rifle,  in  the  other  his  tasselled  hat.  And  his  eyes  were  eager, 
admiring.  "  No,  you're  not  Eastern,"  he  said ;  "  you  were 
born  down  in  the  mesquite.  But  remember  this,  Miss  Mary- 
lyn — it's  the  deepest  woods  that  grow  the  sweetest  violets." 

She  went  on,  out  of  the  grove.  He  lingered  to  watch 
her.  Beyond  the  coulee  road,  she  caught  sight  of  some 
dandelions  and,  gathering  her  apron  into  a  generous  pouch, 
started  to  pick  a  mess.  Her  bonnet  fell  off.  She  tied  it  by 
a  string  to  her  braid.  Then,  flitting  here  and  there,  as  she 
spied  new  clusters,  she  began  an  old  Texas  bunk-house 
song: 

"  We  saw  the  Indians  coming, 
We  heard  them  give  a  yell. 
My  feelings  at  that  moment 
No  mortal  tongue  could  tell." 

Her  step  was  light.  Her  cheek  was  pink.  Her  eyes  were 
happy.  The  corners  of  her  mouth  were  turned  upward 
smilingly.  About  her  warbled  the  blackbirds.  She  mingled 
her  tune  with  theirs. 


CHAPTER    XXII 
A    FIRST    WARNING 

PIERCING  its  shrill  way  through  the  heavy  mist 
that  hung  above  the  Missouri,  came  a  strange,  new 
trumpet-call  from  Brannon.  The  opening  notes, 
reiterated  and  smooth-flowing,  were  unlike  the  first 
sprightly  lilt  of  reveille.  As  Dallas  stilled  the  squeaking 
of  the  well-pulley  to  listen,  they  fell  upon  her  ear  disquietly. 

The  summons  ended.  From  behind,  her  father's  voice 
called  to  her  querulously.  "  Seem  t'  be  changin'  they 
mornin'  toot  over  thar,"  he  said.  "  Ah  wonder  ef  it  means 
anythin'  particular." 

"  I  think  the  soldiers  are  going,"  she  answered. 

"  Th'  hull  passel  ?  "  he  demanded ;  then,  with  a  grunt, 
"  Wai,  good  riddance  o'  bad  rubbish." 

Later  on,  as  Dallas  circled  the  shack  with  the  plow, 
turning  up  a  wide  strip  as  a  protection  against  fires,  she 
found  that  the  reason  she  had  given  for  the  trumpet's 
varying  was  the  true  one.  The  sun,  dispersing  the  fog, 
had  unshrouded  the  river  and  unveiled  the  barracks  and 
the  bluffs.  When  she  saw  that,  of  the  canvas  row  below  the 
stockade  not  a  tent  remained,  and  the  camp-ground  lay 
deserted.  While  from  it,  heading  northward  through  the 
post  to  the  faint  music  of  the  band,  moved  an  imposing 
column  of  cavalry.  Arms  and  equipment  flashed  gallantly 
in  the  sun.  Horses  curveted.  Handkerchiefs  fluttered 

223 


224  The  Ploiv-Woman 

good-bys  from  the  galleries  of  the  Line.  Up  Clothes-Pin 
Row,  the  wives  and  babies  of  troopers  waited  in  little 
groups.  At  the  quarters  of  the  scouts  sounded  the  melan- 
choly beat  of  a  tom-tom.  Accompanying  it,  and  contrast- 
ing with  it  weirdly,  was  a  plaintive  cadence — the  monot- 
onous lament  of  Indian  women. 

The  column  wound  on  its  way,  at  its  rear  the  heavy- 
rolling,  white-covered  wagon-train.  The  band  had  ceased 
to  play.  The  groups  that  had  been  waving  farewells  sor- 
rowfully dispersed.  The  tom-tom  was  still,  and  no  wail  of 
squaws  was  borne  across  the  river.  Then,  Dallas  again 
started  up  Ben  and  Betty. 

And  now  a  sudden  fit  of  depression  came  over  her.  The 
dew  sparkled  on  the  grass,  the  air  was  soft,  the  breeze 
caressing,  the  sun  was  warm  on  her  shoulders.  Yet  with 
all  the  brightness  on  every  hand,  a  sense  of  uneasiness 
would  not  be  shaken  off. 

She  found  herself  reining  often  to  look  toward  Clark's. 
Midway  of  the  eastern  ridge  was  a  long,  buff  blotch — the 
crossing  of  the  coulee  road.  Would  a  horse  and  rider  pass 
across  that  spot  to-day?  Probably  not.  A  wave  of  loneli- 
ness and  of  undeserved  injury  swept  her,  welling  the  tears 
to  her  eyes. 

She  was  halted  close  to  the  corn-land  when  cheery  sing- 
ing reached  her.  Marylyn  had  left  the  shack  and  was  going 
riverward,  dawdling  with  studied  slowness. 

tf  We  saw  the  Indians  coming, 
We  heard  them  give  a  yell, 
My  feelings  at  that  moment 
No  mortal  tongue  could  tell. 


A  First  Warning  225 

We  heard  the  bugle  sounding, 
The  Captain  gave  command— 

'  To  arms!  to  arms!  my  comrades. 
And  by  your  ponies  stand! ' 

"  We  fought  there  full  nine  hours 

Before  the  strife  was  o'er. 
Such  sight  of  dead  and  wounded 
I  ne'er  had  seen  before — 

Five  hundred  noble  Rangers 

As  ever  saw  the  West 
Were  buried  by  their  comrades. 

May  peaceful  be  their  rest!  " 

Dallas  shivered.  The  song  suggested  a  cruel  end  for 
the  gay  troopers  who  had  just  gone  forth.  "  Marylyn !  " 
she  called. 

The  younger  paused  to  look  back. 

"  Be  careful,  honey.  Keep  in  sight." 

Marylyn  nodded,  threw  a  kiss,  and  strolled  on. 

All  day,  Dallas  tried  to  work  away  her  troublesome 
thoughts.  When  she  had  known  that  an  Indian  was  sig- 
nalling from  Medicine  Mountain,  she  had  felt  no  fear. 
Why  was  she  growing  fearful  now?  For  it  was  fear — 
not  any  mere  nervousness,  or  sadness  over  the  marching 
of  the  troops.  It  was  even  more:  There  was  a  haunting 
feeling  that  something  was  going  to  happen!  There  was 
a  terrible  certainty  weighing  upon  her — a  certainty  of 
coming  harm! 

Toward  night,  she  began  to  watch  about  her — south- 
ward, to  the  shanty  of  the  Norwegian ;  eastward,  to  where 


226  The  Plow-Woman 

the  tent  of  the  Sioux  Falls  man  had  been ;  west,  where  the 
setting  sun  touched  the  sentinel  guns  on  the  bluffs ;  along 
the  coulee,  where  the  darkness  always  crept  first. 

She  found  herself  examining  the  tops  of  distant  rises. 
Medicine  Mountain  showed  a  dark  speck  at  its  summit, — 
had  she  ever  noticed  that  before?  Other  peaks  looked  un- 
familiar— were  they  the  lookouts  of  savage  spies?  And 
north,  far  beyond  the  "  little  bend  "  was  the  smoke  of  a 
camp-fire.  In  fancy,  she  saw  the  one  who  had  lighted  it — 
a  warrior  with  vindictive,  painted  face,  who  peered  at  the 
squat  shack  on  the  bend  as  he  fanned  and  smothered  the 
flame. 

Night  was  at  hand.  The  plover  were  wailing;  the  sad- 
voiced  pewits  called;  one  by  one,  the  frogs  began  a  lone- 
some chant.  A  light  had  sprung  up  in  the  shack.  She 
glanced  that  way.  And  the  window  eyes  of  the  log-house 
seemed  to  leer  at  her. 

A  warm  supper,  Marylyn's  bright  face,  her  father's 
placid  retorts — all  these  did  not  suffice  to  drive  away  her 
forebodings.  What  was  there  in  the  coming  night? 

All  her  instinct  spoke  for  caution.  The  lantern  was 
shaken  out  before  the  table  was  cleared.  Her  father  and 
sister  early  sought  their  beds.  She  only  lay  down  in  her 
clothes.  The  hours  passed  in  a  strange  suspense.  She 
listened  .to  her  father's  deep  breathing,  to  the  mules,  when 
they  wandered  into  their  stalls,  to  the  snap  of  Simon's  long 
brush  as  he  whipped  at  the  mosquitoes.  Her  eyes  kept 
searching  the  black  corners  of  the  room,  and  the  pale 
squares  of  the  windows.  Her  ears  were  alert  for  every 
sound. 

She  fell  to  thinking  of  Squaw   Charley.  He   had  not 


A  First  Warning  227 

come  for  his  supper,  or  brought  them  the  daily  basket. 
Was  he  growing  indifferent — to  them  ? 

It  was  when  she  could  no  longer  keep  awake  that  her 
thoughts  assumed  even  a  terrible  shape.  She  dreamed,  and 
in  her  dream  a  head  came  through  the  dirt  floor  close  to 
her  bed.  It  was  covered  by  a  war-bonnet  of  feathers.  Be- 
side it,  thrust  up  by  lissome  fingers — fingers  white  and 
strangely  familiar — was  a  tomahawk. 

Soon,  she  made  out  a  face — Matthews'.  She  squirmed, 
striving  to  summon  her  father.  A  flame  flickered  up  in 
the  fireplace.  The  face  changed  from  white  to  red,  and 
Charley  danced  before  her.  She  squirmed  again ;  the  face 
faded- 
She  found  herself  sitting  bolt  upright.  Her  hands  were 
clenched  defensively,  her  teeth  were  shut  so  tight  that  her 
jaws  ached.  She  was  staring,  wide-eyed,  at  the  door. 

The  shack  was  no  longer  in  darkness.  Morning  was 
come,  and  its  light  made  everything  clear.  She  sprang  up 
and  lifted  the  latch,  then  fell  back,  her  stiffened  lips  fram- 
ing a  cry. 

Before  the  shack,  driven  deep  into  the  nearest  bit  of 
unpacked  ground,  was  a  sapling,  new-cut  and  stripped 
clean  of  the  bark.  From  its  top,  flying  pennon-like  in  the 
wind,  was  a  scarlet  square.  And  at  one  corner  of  this, 
dangling  to  and  fro  in  horrid  suggestiveness,  swung  a 
shrivelled  patch  that  held  a  lock  of  hair. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 
AND    WHAT    FOLLOWED    IT 

KTLE  in  hand,  forgetful  of  crutches,  bewildered 
by  sleep,  the  section-boss  came  diving  through 
the  blanket  partition  to  answer  her  call.  "  Wha's 
matter?  Wha's  matter?"  he  demanded  thickly, 
rubbing  hard  at  his  eyes  to  unclog  their  sight. 

Dallas  leaned  in  the  doorway,  facing  out.  Her  shoul- 
ders were  bent  forward  heavily,  as  if  she,  too,  were  only 
half  awake.  Her  head  was  rested  against  a  casing.  She 
lifted  it  when  she  felt  him  beside  her.  "  Well,  dad,"  she 
answered  grimly,  "  it's  Indians,  this  time,  and — I  reckon 
they  got  us  stampeded."  She  smiled  a  little,  ruefully,  and 
pointed. 

Winking  into  the  light,  Lancaster  followed  her  point- 
ing, and  saw  the  pole.  Up  jerked  his  chin,  as  if  from  a 
blow  on  the  goatee.  He  stared  wildly.  His  jaw  dropped. 
"  W'y,  Lawd ! "  he  breathed  perplexedly,  and  his  chest 
heaved  beneath  the  grey  flannel  of  his  shirt.  Slowly  he 
hobbled  forward  in  his  bare  feet,  using  the  gun  for  a  prop. 
Before  the  pole,  he  halted,  and  began  tousling  his  grizzled 
crown  with  trembling  fingers.  Overhead,  the  scalp- 
weighted  rag  swung  to  and  fro  in  the  breeze,  waving  him 
its  sinister  salute. 

Gradually,  his  brain  cleared,  and  into  it  there  trickled 
a  hint  of  the  pole's  meaning  and  purpose.  He  stopped 
ruffling  his  hair,  and  caught  up  the  Sharps  in  both  hands. 

228 


And  What  Followed  It  229 

Then,  all  at  once,  the  trickle  swelled  to  a  foaming  torrent 
of  suspicion,  that  carried  him  close  to  the  truth.  Mad- 
dened, cursing,  he  dropped  the  gun  and  fell  upon  the 
sapling,  pried  it  furiously  from  the  sod,  and  smashed  it 
into  a  dozen  bits. 

To  Dallas,  watching  him  in  silence,  the  destruction  of 
the  pole  was  a  sore  reminder.  For,  better  than  ever  before, 
she  realised  that  her  father  could  only  accomplish  the 
hasty,  childish  things ;  that  beyond  these,  he  was  powerless. 
Without  a  doubt,  she  must  ask  elsewhere  for  aid. 

As  he  came  limping  and  raging  back  to  her,  she  hurried 
forward  to  relieve  him  of  the  rifle  and  to  guide  his  crippled 
feet.  "  Dad,  I  think  it's  about  time  we  had  a'  understand- 
ing at  the  Fort,"  she  said  quietly,  and  took  him  by  an  arm. 

He  brought  up  short  and  wrung  himself  out  of  her 
grasp.  "Th'  Fort!  th'  Fort!  th'  Fort!"  he  repeated  in  a 
frenzy.  "  Lawd-a-mighty,  Dallas,  y'  make  me  sick !  " 

"  It's  Indians,"  she  replied  steadily.  "  They're  coming 
too  near  to  be  comfortable.  We  got  to  have  help." 

He  raised  his  fists  and  shook  them.  "  Help  an'  fiddle- 
sticks!" he  blustered.  "  Thet  ain't  no  Injuns!  It's  thet 
Shanty  Town  blackleg  a-tryin'  t'  skeer  us.  Go  look  at  th' 
groun' — go  look  at  th'  groun',  Ah  say.  See  if  they's  moc- 
casin tracks  thereabout.  Ah  bet  y'  won't  fin'  any ! "  He 
turned  back  to  the  scattered  splinters,  pulling  Dallas  after 
him. 

Together  they  got  down,  examining  with  care.  As  he 
had  said,  there  were  no  prints  of  an  Indian  shoe  in  the 
soft  earth.  But  mingling  with  the  round,  faint  marks  of 
his  own  naked  heel  were  those — more  plainly  stamped — 
of  a  large  boot.  They  led  up  to  the  spot  from  the  nearest 


230  The  Plow-Woman 

point, on  the  river;  and  back  upon  themselves  toward  the 
same  point. 

"  W'at'd  Ah  tell  y'?  "  demanded  the  section-boss,  almost 
triumphantly.  His  voice  quavered,  however,  and  he  gulped. 
"  It's  thet  scalawag,  an'  he  wanted  us  t'  know  it !  Ain't 
ev'ry  Injun  in  fifty  mile  shet  up  tight  in  yon  corral? 
Ev'ry  one  'cept  Charley — an'  this  ain't  the  job  o'  thet 
blamed  fool.  No,  siree!  An'  then,  th'  mules  didn'  make 
no  row  las'  night.  They'd  a  shore  snorted  if  it  was 
Injuns " 

"  I  guess  that's  so,"  agreed  Dallas,  hastily,  and  made 
him  a  warning  sign.  Marylyn  was  moving  about  inside, 
and  calling. 

But  he  was  beyond  thought  for  another.  "  Bosh ! 
bosh !  "  he  cried.  "  She's  got  t'  stop  bein'  coddled  an'  know 
w'at's  w'at.  You  got  t'  stop  talkin'  Fort.  Ah'm  goin'  t' 
ketch  thet  low-down  skunk  'thout  no  soldiers.  An'  Ah'll 
pepper  his  ugly  hide!  Ah'll  make  him  spit  blood  like  a 
broncho-buster.  Th'  idee  o'  his  havin'  th'  gall ! "  He 
rammed  the  Sharps  into  its  rack  and  laughed  immod- 
erately. 

"  Oh,  pa !  "  expostulated  Marylyn,  in  a  startled  whis- 
per, and  flew  to  Dallas.  Her  face,  still  pink  from  slumber, 
paled  a  little.  She  laid  it  against  her  sister.  Long  ago, 
she  had  seen  her  father  roused  to  the  same  pitch.  The 
sight  had  terrified  her,  and  blunted  some  earlier  and  ten- 
derer memories. 

"  You  git  you'  clothes  on,"  he  ordered  roughly,  "  an' 
rustle  us  some  breakf  as'." 

She  retreated,  ready  for  tears. 

Dallas  walked  up  to  him,  gave  him  his  crutches,  and  put 


And  What  Followed  It  231 

a  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  Dad,"  she  said  firmly,  "  don't 
take  out  your  mad  on  Marylyn.  Keep  it  all  for — him." 
She  nodded  south  toward  Brannon.  "  That's  where  it 
belongs." 

"  Dallas,  you  plumb  disgus'  me,"  he  retorted.  "  Talkin' 
soldier,  when  y'  know  Matthews  could  buy  th'  hull  kit 
an'  boodle  with  a  swig  o'  whisky !  "  He  arraigned  the  Fort 
with  a  crutch. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  doing,  dad  ?  " 

"  Ah'll  fin'  out  where  thet  cuss  was  las'  night — Charley 
'11  help  me,  y'  see " 

"And  then?" 

"  Ah'll  see  thet— thet  Oliver  knows  o'  this,  thet  he  keeps 
a'  eye  on  thet  dog-goned 

"  But  it'll  be  easier  just  to  go  straight  to  the  Captain ; 
not  /,  but  you " 

"  Yes,  do  pa,"  urged  Marylyn.  "  Oh,  Dallas,  what's 
happened  ?  " 

The  elder  girl  told  of  the  pole  and  the  bootmarks, 
treating  them  lightly.  Then  she  came  back  to  her  father. 
To  find  that  her  argument  of  a  moment  before,  for  all  its 
short-cut  logic,  had  set  him  utterly  against  the  plan  he 
had  himself  proposed.  And  now  he  was  for  no  man's  help, 
but  for  a  vengeance  wreaked  with  his  own  gun.  Hurling 
a  final  defy  toward  Shanty  Town,  he  disappeared  behind 
the  partition. 

No  breakfast  was  eaten  that  morning.  The  section-boss 
was  too  angry  to  taste  of  food,  Marylyn  was  too  fright- 
ened, and  Dallas  had  no  time.  For  she  was  busy  with  the 
mules,  currying  them  and  putting  them  before  the  wagon. 
"  Can't  help  what  you  think  about  it  this  time,"  she  said, 


232  The  Plow-Woman 

when  her  father  asked  her  where  she  was  going ;  "  I've 
made  up  my  mind  that  if  you  won't  say  the  Fort,  why 
then  I'll  have  to  drive  to  Clark's  for  Mr.  Lounsbury.  We 
don't  know  for  sure  what  that  pole  meant.  We  must  ask." 

"  Aw,  you  ain't  got  a  smitch  o'  pride,"  he  taunted 
jealously.  "  Goin'  t'  Lounsbury.  Wai!  Wai!  You  think 
a  heap  o'  him,  don'  y'?  More  'n  you  do  o'  you'  father! 
Thet  sticks  out  like  a  sore  finger." 

"  No,"  she  answered  simply.  "  I'm  putting  my  pride  in 
my  pocket,  dad.  I'm  going  to  Mr.  Lounsbury  because  I 
care  so  much  for  you,  and  for  Marylyn.  And  I  want  to 
say  something — I  hate  to  say  it — you've  almost  dis- 
couraged me  about  Brannon  lately.  We  came  here  to  raise 
stuff  to  sell  over  there.  But  I  can't  see  how  we  can  sell 
over  there  if  we  won't  even  speak  to  a  soul.  It  looks  as 
if  we're  going  to  give  all  that  up — as  if  a  lot  of  my  work 
is  for  nothing." 

It  was  a  new  thought  for  the  section-boss.  And  while 
Dallas  disappeared  behind  Betty,  he  pondered  it  with 
hanging  head.  She  came  around  soon  to  hitch  Ben's  tugs, 
when  her  father  looked  up  shamefacedly.  "  Ah'll  tell  y', 
Dallas,"  he  said,  by  way  of  compromise,  "  ef  Lounsbury 
don't  come  back  with  y' " 

"  He  will,"  assured  Dallas,  stoutly. 

"  W'y,  we  '11  go  t'  th'  Fort,  as  you  say." 

"  All  right,  dad,"  she  replied,  giving  his  back  a  pat. 

He  began  to  hobble  up  and  down.  "  You  ain't  scairt  t' 
go?  "  he  ventured  at  last.  "  Ain't  afeerd  o'  nothin'?  " 

"  No ;  and  I'm  going  on  my  own  hook,  remember.  It's 
not  your  fault." 

"  Y'  kaint  think  o'  no  other  way " 


And  What  Followed  It  233 

She  paused  in  front  of  him.  "  Can  you?"  she  asked. 

He  could  have  sworn;  but  there  was  something  in  her 
face  that  forbade  it.  "  No — no,"  he  said  explosively,  and 
so  matched  her  determination  with  his  hot  stubbornness. 

He  left  her,  and  taking  the  rifle  and  all  the  ammunition 
there  was,  seated  himself  on  a  bench  placed  just  outside 
the  door.  There  he  was — a  pitiful  sentinel — as  she  circled 
the  shack  and  reined. 

And  now  another  question  was  presented:  Should 
Marylyn  stay  or  go?  Dallas  was  for  her  remaining,,  so 
that,  in  case  of  need,  help  could  be  summoned — from  some- 
where. Marylyn  sided  with  her.  And  it  was  long  after- 
ward, when  many  things  were  made  clear,  before  the  elder 
girl  understood  her  sister's  action — one  that  seemed  so 
contrary  to  what  the  younger  one  felt.  But  their  father 
opposed  them  both,  and  vehemently. 

Dallas  upon  the  wagon-seat,  prepared  for  her  long 
drive,  had  softened  and  touched  him.  She  bore  herself  so 
bravely.  She  was  so  respectful,  and  concerned. 

"  You  take  Mar'lyn,"  he  insisted,  "  an'  th'  pistol.  Ah 
c'n  git  along  fine  by  myself.  Charley  '11  be  comin',  an' 
Ah'll  hang  on  t'  him.  Ah  reckon,  between  us,  we'll  be  O.  K. 
'Sides,  y'  know,  Ah  got  a  weasel's  tail." 

The  mention  of  Charley  won  Dallas  to  her  father's  view. 
He  would  not  be  alone  all  day,  for  the  outcast  would  surely 
appear.  On  the  other  hand,  she  longed  to  have  Marylyn 
with  her,  where  she  could  shield  her  from  cross  words  and 
possible  harm.  "  We'll  have  Mr.  Lounsbury  with  us  com- 
ing home,"  she  said. 

At  that,  Marylyn  waxed  still  more  eager  to  remain.  And 
it  took  some  pleading  to  overcome  her  reluctance,  and  to 


234  The  Plo\v- Woman 

bring  about  her  consent.  Finally,  however,  the  two  girls 
drove  away. 

Before  she  started  the  team,  Dallas  climbed  down  to  say 
good-by.  In  all  their  lives,  few  caresses  had  ever  passed 
between  father  and  daughter,  and  those  had  been  during 
her  babyhood.  But  now,  moved  by  a  common  impulse,  each 
reached  out  at  parting  to  clasp  the  other.  And  there  were 
tears  in  the  eyes  of  both. 

As  the  wagon  trundled  out  of  ear-shot,  that  one  of  the 
trio  least  consulted  in  the  affairs  of  the  shack  was  hard 
beset  by  a  temptation:  to  tell  Dallas  about  Lieutenant 
Eraser  and  his  earnest,  oft-repeated  promise  of  protection. 
But  Marylyn  hesitated,  afraid  to  speak — no  less  afraid  of 
her  sister  than  of  her  father.  She  realised  that  if  she  men- 
tioned the  officer,  she  would  have  to  admit  their  meetings. 
And  such  a  confession  would  undoubtedly  result  in  an  end 
to  those  meetings  and,  perhaps,  in  severe  blaming.  Yet — 
it  would  also  cut  short  the  drive  to  Clark's.  And  what 
might  not  be  awaiting  them  on  that  journey?  Still,  there 
were  only  two  likely  dangers :  Indians  and  the  interpreter. 
"  But  Mr.  Fraser  says  this  upper  side  of  the  river  's  safe," 
she  remembered.  As  to  Matthews,  he  would  not  be  linger- 
ing beside  the  road  to  waylay  them.  Her  fears  for  her  own 
safety  were  thus  argued  down. 

There  was  yet  her  father's  safety  to  consider.  Well,  her 
gallant  new  friend  would  look  to  that.  "  He'll  be  across 
again  this  afternoon,"  she  thought,  "  and  he'll  watch  the 
house  careful.  He  couldn't  do  any  more  if  he  knew  about 
the  pole."  So,  her  conscience  satisfied,  she  decided  to  keep 
her  own  counsel.  That  decision  cost  her  abundant  grief 
and  penitence  in  the  months  to  come. 


And  What  Followed  It  235 

While  Marylyn  was  busy  with  her  troublesome  problem, 
a  similar  one  was  running  in  Dallas'  brain,  where  it  called 
for  calculation.  Would  Matthews  threaten  the  shack  that 
day?  It  was  scarcely  probable.  Night  offered  the  best 
hours  for  an  attack.  Therefore,  the  wagon  must  return 
before  night.  But  could  Ben  and  Betty  make  Clark's  and 
the  return  trip  before  then?  So  far,  they  had  never  done 
it.  The  previous  summer,  the  drive  was  begun  at  dawn, 
when  dawn  was  at  three  o'clock.  "  We'll  just  have  to  hike 
along,"  she  said  aloud  to  Marylyn. 

Into  the  coulee  slid  the  wagon,  its  long  tongue  in  the 
air,  the  loose  tugs  hitting  the  mules  in  the  hock.  When  the 
team  had  scrambled  up  the  farther  side,  Dallas  put  them 
to  a  trot  by  a  flick  of  the  black-snake.  Then  she  bent  for- 
ward over  the  dashboard,  her  eyes  fixed  eagerly  on  that 
distant  brown  blotch  at  the  eastern  ridge-top.  But 
Marylyn,  as  they  drew  away,  looked  regretfully  backward 
— to  where  a  clump  of  tall  cottonwoods,  shaking  their 
heart-shaped  leaves  in  the  wind,  dappled  a  flower-studded 
stretch  below  the  coulee  mouth. 

Rod  by  rod  the  mules  climbed  the  gently  sloping  prairie. 
The  morning  was  perfect,  and  belied,  in  its  beauty,  even 
a  suggestion  of  lurking  harm.  The  air,  crystal-clear  and 
exhilarating,  brought  far  things  magically  near  to  the  eye. 
On  every  hand  shimmered  the  springing  grass,  now,  a  pale 
emerald  with  the  wind  brushing  it,  again,  in  the  still  places, 
a  darker  green,  and  yet  again — under  the  ravine's  fring- 
ing willows,  where  the  deer  nibbled — a  cool  black.  Out  of 
it,  the  meadow-larks  showed  their  good-luck  waistcoats  and 
rippled  their  tunes;  out  of  it,  cduntless  wild  roses  smiled 
up  pinkly  to  the  sun. 


236  The  Plow-Woman 

But  all  the  loveliness  of  the  new  day  only  mocked  at  the 
lonely  girls  in  the  wagon.  To  them,  the  grey  sands  of  their 
desert  home,  the  blistering  "  northers,"  the  brassy  skies, 
were,  unconsciously,  synonymous  of  safety  and  peace. 
More  than  once,  as  they  pressed  on,  the  old,  red-painted 
section-house  rose  before  them,  a  very  haven. 

Behind,  the  squat  shack  was  gradually  lessening  in  size. 
A  jutting  corner  had  already  shut  from  view  its  crippled 
sentry. 

There  was  little  conversation.  Marylyn,  for  a  time, 
could  not  dismiss  the  subject  that  had  confronted  her  at 
the  start.  Finally,  however,  she  put  it  aside  impatiently, 
and  let  herself  drift  on  a  pleasant  current.  And  Dallas — 
her  thoughts  were  also  harried.  For  as  her  home  dropped, 
mile  by  mile,  in  the  distance,  and  she  was  forced  to  meet 
the  question  of  what  she  would  say  and  do  when  she  ar- 
rived at  Clark's,  her  feelings  underwent  a  marvellous 
change.  It  had  been  easy  enough,  in  the  excitement  fol- 
lowing her  discovery,  to  contemplate  a  meeting  with  Louns- 
bury.  But  that  excitement  having  dwindled  not  a  little,  the 
idea  of  seeing  him  and  of  talking  to  him  mounted  in  pro- 
portional importance.  She  saw  herself  drawing  up  before 
his  store,  or  standing  just  within  as  she  related  her  story. 
She  saw  his  face,  the  blue  eyes,  full  of  fun — and  she  had 
not  met  him  since  that  evening !  Her  heart  began  to  thump 
with  her  picturing,  its  poundings  playing  up  to  her  throat 
and  down  again.  Want  of  food  was  giving  her  a  sensation 
of  weakness  and  sinking.  But  this  seemed  also  to  be  the 
result  of  mental,  and  not  physical,  suffering.  She  was  torn 
by  a  desire  to  retreat. 

Then   darted    through   her   mind  the   remembrance   of 


And  What  Followed  It  237 

Marylyn's  midnight  confidence.  It  was  a  blow  on  a  wound. 
She  glanced  at  her  sister  entreatingly.  And  what  she  fan- 
cied she  read  in  the  other's  eyes  instantly  altered  the 
desire  to  turn — made  her  send  the  mules  forward  at  a 
better  pace.  Marylyn  was  sitting  stiffly  upright,  bracing 
herself  with  her  hands.  Her  head  was  up,  her  look  was 
eager  and  fixed.  There  was  a  smile  on  her  parted  lips. 

"  She's  happy  about  seeing  him,"  thought  Dallas,  and 
was  overwhelmed  by  a  sense  of  her  own  guilt. 

A  diversion  soon  came  in  a  horrid  guise.  The  road 
touched  the  coulee  again,  bringing  close  the  giant  cotton- 
woods,  where  the  Sioux  dead  were  lashed;  and  the  girls, 
glancing  toward  the  trees,  suddenly  caught  a  glimpse  of 
long,  wrapped  bodies. 

Marylyn  edged  toward  her  sister.  "  Oh,  I  hope  it  '11 
be  light  when  we  get  here  coming  back,"  she  whispered, 
shuddering. 

"  We  won't  be  alone,"  answered  Dallas,  reassuringly. 

The  coulee  was  deep  and  dark  at  that  point,  and  full 
of  queer  shadows.  From  the  boughs  that  cradled  the  braves 
came  uncanny  flutterings,  as  the  wind  shook  loosened  scraps 
of  the  sleepers'  covering.  The  dead  seemed  to  be  moving 
restlessly  upon  their  bier-boards,  and  waving  an  imploring 
summons  to  be  freed  of  the  thongs  that  bound  them.  Over- 
head was  full  cause  for  fear.  Floating  on  motionless 
wing,  with  bare  necks  craning  hungrily,  circled  black 
watchers. 

"  They  say,"  whispered  Marylyn,  watching  nervously 
behind,  "  they  say  the  Indians  are  scared  to  come  near 
these  trees,  never  do  till  one  of  'em  dies.  I  don't  wonder. 
It  gives  me  the  shivers  just  to  see  that  bunch." 


238  The  Plow-Woman 

Dallas  drew  the  whip  across  Betty.  "  A  dead  Indian's 
not  dangerous,"  she  said,  smiling.  And  forgot  to  ask 
Marylyn  where  she  had  heard  the  tale. 

Six  miles  were  gone.  But  the  way  ahead  was  still  long, 
the  brown  blotch  at  the  ridge-top  was  still  only  a  blotch. 
And  the  team  was  fast  tiring.  When  Murphy's  Throat 
was  reached,  Dallas  drove  out  to  the  left,  watered  the 
thirsty  pair  at  a  slough,  and  ate  with  Marylyn  the  long- 
deferred  breakfast.  After  that  they  went  at  a  better  pace 
for  a  time.  Soon,  however,  the  road  became  steeper,  and 
Betty  slacked  up.  The  sun  was  high,  now,  and  unpleas- 
antly warm.  So  the  wise  old  mule  merely  humped  her  back 
as  Dallas  applied  the  lash,  and  doggedly  refused  to  increase 
her  speed. 

It  was  noon  when  the  wagon  approached  the  summit. 
It  did  not  rest  there  a  moment.  Behind  was  spread  out  a 
wonderful  landscape.  The  Missouri  threaded  it  quarter- 
ingly,  the  western  bluffs  walled  its  farther  edge  to  the  sky. 
Its  eastern  boundary  was  the  ridge  over  which  the  wagon 
was  rolling.  From  this  undulating  line,  the  verdant  land 
slipped  down  and  down  and  down — to  the  fantastic  turn- 
ings of  the  river.  But  the  girls,  peering  back  upon  it, 
through  a  haze  that  was  softly  blue,  were  wholly  indifferent 
to  its  beauty.  They  sought,  and  in  vain,  for  a  remote  dot 
that  might  be  the  shack — the  shack  they  had  left  at  the 
end  of  that  unswerving  road. 

And  now  they  went  forward  again.  The  scene  on  the 
farther  side  of  the  summit  was  newer  than  that  on  the 
other,  but  did  not  rival  it.  Short  coulees  had  eaten  the  bluff 
slopes  into  flutings,  and  spilled  small  rivulets  upon  the 
plain.  Yet,  barring  these,  and  a  lake  that  sparkled,  a 


And  What  Followed  It  239 

round  sapphire,  on  the  right,  there  was  superb  uniformity. 
Not  a  stream,  not  a  butte,  not  even  a  nubbin  of  rock 
varied  the  view.  And  not  a  head  of  cattle!  To  the  south 
moved  a  score  of  yellow  animals — antelope.  But  these  and 
a  village  of  saucy  prairie-dogs  were  the  only  signs  of  life. 
The  land  dropped  away  by  imperceptible  degrees.  As  im- 
perceptibly, it  melted  into  a  mellow  sky. 

Dallas  and  Marylyn  were  each  intent  upon  Clark's,  ly- 
ing far  ahead  and  to  the  left,  a  dun-coloured  line  which 
seemed  scarcely  to  get  nearer  as  the  time  went.  But  after 
an  hour,  their  patience  was  rewarded.  When  the  dun- 
coloured  line  resolved  itself  into  two,  and  they  saw  the 
cow-camp:  A  narrow  street  flanked  by  low  shanties  of 
canvas  and  board. 

Again,  Dallas  and  Marylyn  were  absorbed,  each  with  a 
mental  conflict.  The  younger  got  fidgety,  then  petulant, 
and  began  to  complain  of  thirst.  For  once,  the  elder  girl 
showed  scant  sympathy.  She  was  hurriedly  planning  some 
new  speeches. 

At  the  southern  end  of  the  camp,  their  destination  was 
made  plain  to  them  by  a  sign  reading,  "  General  Merchan- 
dise." It  was  nailed  along  the  hip  of  a  large  building  that 
stood  midway  of  the  street.  Looking  to  neither  side,  they 
made  straight  for  it. 

When  the  team  came  to  a  stand  before  the  store,  the 
girls  saw  to  their  surprise  that  the  door  was  shut.  They 
waited.  A  minute  passed.  No  one  came  out.  Then,  Dallas 
climbed  down  and  knocked.  There  was  no  answer.  She 
waited  again.  Finally,  she  tried  the  knob.  It  resisted  her 
effort.  From  within  came  the  rattle  of  a  chain. 

"It's  locked!"  She  went  back  to   Marylyn.  The  two 


240  The  Plotv- Woman 

looked  at  each  other.  Over  the  younger's  face  swept  a 
flush  of  relief.  But  Dallas  had  forgotten  her  dread  of 
seeing  Lounsbury  in  a  keen  disappointment  at  finding 
him  gone.  She  glanced  anxiously  up  and  down  the 
street. 

It  was  deserted  and  still.  Dallas  climbed  back  to  the  seat. 
"  Maybe  he's  at  the  Fort,"  she  said  encouragingly.  "  We'll 
drive  home  quick.  There's  a  lot  of  it  down-hill."  She 
clucked  to  the  team. 

At  that  moment  the  door  of  a  near-by  shanty  opened.  A 
man  came  out,  waving  a  letter.  "  Say !  hello !  "  he  bawled ; 
"  don't  you  want  your  mail?  " 

Dallas  checked  the  mules. 

"  I  got  a  letter  for  you,"  he  went  on.  It  was  Al  Braden 
of  Sioux  Falls. 

Dallas  gave  Marylyn  the  reins  and  reached  for  the  let- 
ter, noting  that  the  real-estate  man  did  not  doff  the  floppy 
hat,  or  make  any  swinging  bows. 

"A  letter?" 

"  Yep,  from  Lounsbury.  I  told  him  I  was  going  to  lope 
back  down  to  the  Bend — but  I  didn't."  He  snickered. 

"  Where's  he  gone?  "  she  asked,  slitting  the  envelope  with 
a  shaking  hand. 

"  Dunno,"  answered  Braden.  He  was  leaning  on  a  wheel 
now,  surveying  Ben  and  Betty  with  a  critical,  and  some- 
what disdainful,  eye.  For  each  was  hanging  upon  three 
legs  to  rest  a  fourth.  Presently,  he  glanced  up  at  Marylyn, 
and  his  eye  lit  impudently.  "  Dunno,"  he  repeated. 
"  You're  his  girl.  You  ought  to  know." 

But  Dallas  did  not  hear  him.  She  was  scanning  a  page, 
closely  written  and  addressed  to  herself. 


And  What  Followed  It  241 

"A  telegram  has  come  calling  me  home  [ran  the  letter].  It 
says  my  mother  is  ill — '  seriously  ill ' — and  I  am  afraid  it's 
put  that  way  to  hide  something  worse.  It  is  the  only  thing 
that  could  take  me  out  of  Dakota  now.  But  I  am  not  leaving 
you  unprotected.  Before  I  left  Brannon,  I  arranged  to  have 
Matthews  watched  every  hour  of  the  day  and  night.  And  he  is 
the  only  thing  that  might  make  you  trouble.  For  if  the  Indians 
get  nasty,  I  know  Oliver  will  insist  on  bringing  you  in.  Still,  I 
shall  worry  terribly  till  I  get  back.  I  wish  I  could  write  all  I 
would  like  to.  But  it  would  be  what  I  have  already  told  you — 
you  will  understand." 

Thus,  it  ended. 

Dallas  thrust  it  into  the  pocket  of  her  skirt,  took  the 
reins  and  lifted  the  black-snake.  Ben  saw  the  threatening 
movement  from  behind  his  bridle  blinds.  He  sprang  for- 
ward. The  wheel  rolled  from  under  Braden's  elbow. 

"  Well,  I'll  be  damned !  "  he  growled.  "  Ain't  you  going 
to  say  ta-ta  ?  "  He  strode  along  at  the  tail-board,  smirk- 
ing up  at  the  two  in  an  attempt  to  be  friendly.  "  Maybe 
you'd  like  company  going  home,"  he  said.  "  Lonely  trip 
for  girls,  'specially  when  they  ain't  got  a  gun."  He  gave 
Marylyn  a  bold  wink. 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  Dallas,  shortly.  "  We  don't  want 
company — and  we  have  got  a  gun."  She  lifted  the  pistol 
from  the  seat. 

Braden  fell  behind.  "  Stop  and  drink  some  beer,  any- 
way," he  called.  "  Got  some  in  here.  You  mustn't  be  mad 
at  me  because  Johnnie's  mamma  sent  for  him.  Come  on 
back." 

To  this,  no  answer  was  made.  Dallas  gave  the  team  a 
few  smart  cuts.  The  wagon  rumbled  out  of  the  street. 


242  The  Plow-Woman 

And  now  began  the  return  journey.  Five  hours  had  been 
consumed  in  reaching  Clark's.  Ten  minutes  had  been 
wasted  there.  Another  five  would  be  passed  at  the  first  clear 
water.  But  allowing  for  the  team's  faster  gait  when  they 
were  headed  for  home,  and  for  twelve  miles  of  down- 
grade, they  should  not  take  more  than  four  hours  to  reach 
the  bend.  Twilight  would  be  settling  then. 

Dallas  figured  the  return"  thus — but  it  was  soon  plain 
to  her  that  sunset  would  find  them  miles  from  the  shack. 
Poor  feed,  with  the  plowing  and  the  harrowing,  had 
thinned  the  mules.  After  the  first  spurt,  they  paid  no 
heed  to  the  whip,  and  fairly  crawled.  Marylyn,  tired,  gave 
way  to  passionate  complaining.  Dallas  folded  a  blanket 
in  the  bottom  of  the  wagon  and  coaxed  her  sister  to  lie 
down  upon  it,  her  face  shielded  by  the  seat.  To  further 
dishearten  the  elder  girl,  Ben  and  Betty  showed  signs  of 
sore-footedness.  Guided  out  upon  the  grass,  they  travelled 
better. 

It  took  three  precious  hours  to  gain  the  summit.  The 
afternoon  was  then  far  gone.  Across  the  wide  valley,  dark 
clouds  were  piling  upon  the  western  range;  they  added 
to  its  height,  and  augured  the  day's  early  closing.  When 
the  Throat  gaped  alongside,  the  fleecy  horizon  had  rolled 
still  higher,  and  beneath  ,it  the  setting  sun  showed  through 
like  a  harvest  moon,  blood-red. 

Swiftly  the  day  withdrew  and  the  stars  came  out.  Then, 
the  breeze  lulled,  and  a  mist  rose  from  the  coulee's  wooded 
bottom.  From  it  came  the  tremulous  call  of  an  owl. 
Dallas  slipped  to  her  feet  and  wielded  the  black-snake 
vigorously. 

The  mules  shot  forward  for  a  wagon-length.  The  sud- 


And  What  Followed  It  243 

den  jolt  awakened  Marylyn.   She  got  to  her  knees — and 
there  were  the  cottonwoods  with  the  laden  boughs! 

"  Spunky  little  sister,"  encouraged  the  elder  girl,  and 
helped  the  other  to  the  seat. 

The  road  was  so  dark,  now,  that  it  took  on  the  aspect 
of  a  standing  man,  who  was  no  sooner  overridden  than  he 
rose  again  in  the  lead.  This  was  a  beginning  for  all  man- 
ner of  fears.  Dallas  fought  her  own.  But  she  could  not 
conquer  them.  For  they  enlarged  enormously,  and  changed 
to  a  premonition  that  ran  riot. 

Listening  and  watching,  she  had  suffered  the  previous 
night.  Yet  that  suffering  was  nothing  compared  to  the 
agony  that  stole  into  her  heart  and  held  it — till  she  forgot 
Marylyn's  presence.  She  seemed  to  see  a  figure  skulking 
through  the  dusk  about  the  shack;  it  entered  the  lean-to 
and  crouched  in  hiding.  She  saw  it  come  forth  again, 
keeping  close  to  the  logs.  Its  eyes  shone  in  the  dark ! 

Her  father  was  beside  the  door,  where  she  had  left  him. 
He  was  gazing  straight  ahead,  as  if  he  expected  the  enemy 
to  approach  only  from  the  front ;  as  if  he  had  no  thought 
of  treachery.  His  figure  was  relaxed  wearily.  His  face 
was  drawn.  But  his  eyes — like  the  other's — were  strangely 
luminous. 

Ah! — the  figure  was  creeping  toward  him — noiselessly — 
step  by  step ! 

"  Go  in !  Go  in !  Daddy!  " 

The  cry  was  torn  from  her,  though  she  strove  to  keep 
it  back.  The  strain  of  the  past  night  and  day  was  telling. 
Frantically,  she  begged  Ben  and  Betty  to  hasten.  Know- 
ing home  was  not  far,  they  obeyed  her  voice,  and,  pres- 
ently, were  setting  back  in  their  collars  to  block  the  descent 


244  The  Plow-Woman 

of  the  wagon;  were  splashing  through  the  back-water  at 
the  coulee-crossing,  and  jerking  their  load  out  upon  the 
level.  Eastward,  the  shack  stood  out  dimly  in  the  star- 
light. They  made  for  it  at  a  trot. 

But  all  at  once  they  stopped,  and  began  stepping  this 
way  and  that,  as  if  ready  to  leap  the  tongue.  Dallas  and 
Marylyn  recoiled,  forsaking  the  seat  for  the  shelter  of  the 
box. 

There  was  a  moment's  wait,  in  a  stillness  as  vast  as  the 
prairie.  The  mules,  sidled  to  the  left,  shifted  their  long 
ears  nervously.  The  girls  listened,  the  younger  shielded 
by  the  elder's  arms. 

Then,  across  the  bend,  from  the  deserted  houses  of 
Shanty  Town,  sounded  the  long,  soul-chilling  howl  of  a 
dog. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 
THE    SPIRIT    OF    THE    FRONTIER 

A  BROKEN  crutch  lying  close  to  the  shack  on  the 
river  side,  a  blood-bespattered  pane  in  the  window 
just  above,  a  rifle  ball,  embedded  deep  at  a  gun's 
length  beyond  the  pane — these  were  the  traces 
that,  on  the  following  morning,  gave  an  inkling  of  a  deadly 
clash. 

Squaw  Charley  found  them,  when  the  day  was  yet  so 
young  that  no  human  eyes,  save  those  of  an  Indian,  could 
have  used  its  scanty  light.  Four  raps  upon  the  warped 
door  had  brought  no  answer.  Loudly  repeated,  they  had 
set  the  wooden  latch  to  shaking  lonesomely.  Mistrustful, 
he  had  entered  and  groped  about  the  dark  room.  Table 
and  benches  were  in  place.  The  blankets  hung  before  the 
bunk.  To  one  side,  rolled  up  neatly,  was  the  mattress  upon 
which  Dallas  and  Marylyn  slept.  But  nothing  else  met  his 
expectant  hand  and  foot.  Next,  he  had  visited  the  lean-to, 
where  he  felt  his  way  carefully  from  stall  to  stall,  discov- 
ering no  occupant.  Then,  he  had  gone  out  to  pry  around 
the  yard.  And  lit  upon  the  marks  that  told  of  the  struggle. 
The  absence  of  the  wagon  was  a  clue.  He  stole  along 
the  out-going  tracks,  between  which,  small,  circular  and 
clearly  stamped,  were  the  hoof -prints  of  two  mules.  Near 
the  coulee-crossing,  the  tracks  ran  into  others,  and  fresher 
ones,  that  diverged  sharply  into  the  corn.  The  hoof -prints 

245 


246  The  Plow-Woman 

between  these  pointed  eastward.  He  forsook  the  out-going 
and  turned  back  across  the  field. 

At  first,  the  course  of  the  wagon  puzzled.  After  veering 
north  until  the  canyon  yawned,  the  team  had  made  along 
the  brink,  keeping  perilously  near  it;  farther  on,  at  the 
upper  end  of  the  plowed  strip,  the  direction  abruptly 
changed.  The  mules  had  swung  out  to  the  right  upon  the 
open  prairie,  travelling  straight  for  the  middle  of  the  gap. 
So  far  they  had  gone  at  a  furious  gallop.  Now,  however, 
they  slowed  to  a  walk.  When  the  course  no  longer  puzzled. 
To  and  fro,  it  wended,  this  way  for  a  few  feet,  then,  the 
other — proof  that  Ben  and  Betty  had  fed. 

The  Squaw  halted.  The  horizon  was  faintly  yellow. 
Upon  it  was  a  moving  black  object,  which  presently  took 
the  clearer  form  of  a  wagon  and  span.  He  set  off,  his 
loose  hair  whipping  at  his  back.  The  team  was  also  travel- 
ling rapidly.  Behind  was  a  reddish  follower  that  lowed  in 
protest  of  the  speed. 

When  the  mules  came  by,  Dallas  was  standing  at  the 
dash-board,  plying  the  lash.  Her  face  was  ashen,  her  eyes 
were  hollow.  She  did  not  see  the  Indian,  for  her  gaze  was 
upon  the  shack.  He  swung  himself  into  the  rattling  box. 
There  lay  Marylyn,  still  in  the  grasp  of  the  stupor 
that  had  bound  them,  brain  and  body,  through  the 
night 

Before  the  mules  brought  up  at  the  lean-to,  Dallas  was 
over  a  wheel  and  tottering  in  quest  of  her  father.  Out  of 
the  shack,  as  she  searched  it,  sounded  her  plaintive  cry: 
"Daddy!  daddy!  where  are  you?  .Oh,  Daddy!  daddy! 
come  back !  " 

Squaw  Charley,  bringing  Marylyn  in,  found  the  elder 


The  Spirit  of  the  Frontier  247 

girl  kneeling  behind  the  partition,  her  arms  thrown  out  to 
grasp  the  vacant  bunk. 

He  put  his  load  down  gently ;  then,  i  nbidden,  rushed 
through  the  door  for  Brannon. 

When  Captain  Oliver  arrived,  with  Fraser,  a  surgeon 
and  a  detachment  of  mounted  men,  Dallas  was  seated  in 
the  doorway,  rocking  Marylyn  against  her  breast.  She 
looked  up,  dry-eyed,  as  he  hurried  to  her. 

"What  'd  they  do  it  for?"  she  asked  him,  brokenly. 
"  How  could  they  hurt  you,  dad?  Oh,  the  land  wasn't 
worth  it !  the  land  wasn't  worth  it !  " 

Something  to  quicken  life  in  Marylyn  was  the  first 
thought.  Then,  food  and  drink  were  given  the  girls. 
Meanwhile,  the  troopers  were  sent  out  under  Fraser  to 
range  the  bend  and  beat  the  coulee. 

Oliver  stayed.  But  to  his  questions,  Dallas,  her  reason 
tottering  like  her  steps,  could  only  return  others  that  were 
heartrending : 

"  He'll  come  back,  won't  he  ?  They  wouldn't  kill  him  ? 
Oh,  you  don't  think  he's  dead?  " 

"  We'll  find  him,"  said  the  captain.  He  was  pitiful  in 
his  regret.  This  tragedy  was  striking  home  to  him  as  even 
the  Jamieson  failure  had  not.  His  long,  sad  face  was  more 
like  a  walrus'  than  ever. 

"  Mr.  Bond  said  we'd  have  good  luck  here,"  she  went  on 
despairingly.  "  But  there  was  danger  by  night,  wasn't 
there  ?  There  was  danger !  " 

"  She's  knocked  silly,"  Oliver  murmured  to  the  surgeon. 
"  The  child  doesn't  know  what  she's  saying." 

"  You're  right.  Clean  blunted,"  was  the  answer.  "  But 
I'll  straighten  'em  both  out  by  noon." 


248  The  Plow-Woman 

A  long  halloo  summoned  the  captain  to  the  door.  A 
group  of  men  were  gathered  in  the  swale  between  the  shack 
and  Shanty  Town.  Fraser  was  among  them.  Oliver  sig- 
nalled, and  the  young  officer  wheeled  and  came  galloping  in. 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Old  man's  gun,  discharged,  out  there  in  the  grass " 

"Yes?" 

"  And  two  sets  of  footprints  coming  and  going  across 
that  bit  of  low  ground.  One  set  looks  about  two  days  old, 
and  was  made  by  boots.  Other  is  newer,  and  made  by 
moccasins." 

"Ah!" 

"  There's  something  strange  about  these  last :  Coming 
this  way,  the  marks  are  so  light  you  can  hardly  see  'em; 
going  back,  they're  sunk  way  down." 

"Carried  a  load,  eh?" 

"  It  looks  like  it."  Oliver  mounted,  and  they  rode  off 
to  the  swale. 

Noon  was  past  when  the  captain  called  at  the  shack 
again.  He  found  the  surgeon  gone,  but  his  promise  ful- 
filled: Food  and  medicine  had  gone  far  to  revive  his 
patients  physically ;  tears  had  mercifully  combined  with 
returning  strength  to  right  their  minds. 

This  time,  the  elder  girl  met  Oliver  with  no  incoherence, 
but  with  brave  quiet.  All  her  self-command  had  returned. 
She  asked  him  in,  and  showed  a  tender  forethought  for 
Marylyn  by  sending  her  out  into  the  sunshine  and  the 
garden  before  she  listened  to  what  he  had  to  tell.  When 
he  was  done,  she  began  her  story  with  the  finding  of  the 
pole. 

"  Redskins  !  "  he  exclaimed. 


The  Spirit  of  the  Frontier  249 

"  Boot-marks  were  around  it,  though,"  she  said. 

"You  are  sure?  I  wish  your  father  had  asked  my  ad- 
vice. I  feel  as  if  I  had  come  short  in  my  duty." 

"  Please  don't,"  she  entreated.  "  You  see,  we.  thought 
we  could  tend  to  it — long  's  we  knew  who  it  was." 

He  turned  astonished  eyes  upon  her.  "  Knew ! "  he  ex- 
claimed. "  Well,  for  Heaven's  sake  out  with  it,  then !  " 

"  Matthews — he  wanted  the  land." 

"  The  interpreter !  But  last  night's  tracks  were  made  by 
moccasins.  There's  one  Indian  free " 

She  let  him  get  no  further.  "  It's  not  Charley,"  she  de- 
clared. "  Matthews  meant  us  to  think  it  was  Indians. 
Moccasins  are  easy  to  get." 

"  That's  true."  He  frowned.  "  Hm !— Well,  I  shall  in- 
quire into  his  whereabouts  during  the  last  two  days."  And 
the  captain  fell  to  studying  the  figures  on  the  Navajos. 

Outside,  Lieutenant  Fraser  was  passing  the  shack.  He 
rode  on  to  the  cornfield,  where  he  flung  himself  off  his 
horse. 

"  Marylyn !  Marylyn !  "  he  said  tremblingly.  "  You 
poor  girl!  I'm  so  sorry — What  can  I  say?  It's  my  fault." 

She  lifted  a  scared  face  to  his.  "  No,  it's  mine,"  she 
answered ;  "  if  I'd  told  Dallas  about  you,  we'd  never  'a' 
gone  to  Clark's " 

"  Thank  goodness  you  did !  But  if  your  father  had 
known  about  me — if  I  could  have  come  to  the  house.  I 
must  after  this.  We'll  tell  your  sister  about  us  now. 
Come  on." 

She  shrank  back  in  sudden  fright.  "  No,  no.  Don't  you 
see?  She'd  think  it  was  awful  I  didn't  say  something 
yesterday !  " 


250  The  Plow-Woman 

"  Why  didn't  you,  Marylyn?  " 

She  looked  down.  "  You  don't  know  Dallas.  She  don't 
like  soldiers  any  more'n  pa.  She  said  so,  and  she'd 

"  Oh,  I  think  she  does,"  he  argued.  "  Now,  let's  try  her 
— let's  make  a  clean  breast  of  it." 

Her  hands  came  out  in  wild  imploring.  "  You  won't, 
you  won't,  you  won't,"  she  begged.  "  Don't  you  under- 
stand?— my  keeping  still  was  just  as  if  I'd  killed  pa!  Oh, 
it  was !  So  I  can't  tell — now!  " 

"  Marylyn " 

"  Promise  you  won't,  oh,  promise  you  won't ! "  And  she 
went  down,  crumpling  into  a  little,  miserable  heap. 

Quickly,  he  lifted  her.  "  Well,  we  won't  tell  her  then, 
not  if  you  don't  want  to — but  we'll  have  to  some  day." 

"  Some  day — maybe — but  not  now." 

"  All  right,  then — not  now."  He  led  her  from  garden 
to  coulee  and  back  again,  trying  to  comfort  her  all  the 
while  as  best  he  could. 

"  You  see,  Marylyn,"  he  said,  "  you're  wrong  about  its 
being  your  fault.  It's  mine.  I  promised  Lounsbury  I'd 
look  after  you  folks." 

She  stopped  short.  "  Did  you  tell  him  about  you  and 
me?" 

"  No." 

"Oh."  She  was  relieved.  "You  mustn't,  either.  Not 
him,  or  anyone." 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  can  ever  look  Lounsbury  in  the  face 
again,"  he  said  bitterly. 

Whereupon,  she  straightway  began  to  comfort  him. 

At  the  shack,  Oliver  and  Dallas  had  arrived  at  the 
question  of  future  safety. 

"  I  must  insist,"  the  captain  was  saying,  "  upon  your 


The  Spirit  of  the  Frontier  251 

coming  to  live  at  the  Fort.  I  cannot  spare  a  permanent 
guard  for  this  side  of  the  river — a  scouting  party  up  and 
down  once  a  day  is  about  the  best  I  could  do.  We  have  our 
hands  full  already." 

"  Live  at  the  Fort "  Her  lips  tightened  a  little. 

She  got  up  to  walk.  She  was  thinking  of  the  cold  stares, 
the  "Ahs,"  the  "  Ohs,"  and  the  laughter  of  the  post 
ladies  in  their  bowling  ambulance ;  the  nudges  and  the  grins 
of  the  passing  musicians ;  and  "  There's  allus  room  at  the 
Fort  when  there's  good-lookin'  gals  in  the  fambly." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  You  love  your  sister,"  he  reminded.  "  Think  of  her." 

"  I  am  thinking  of  her.  I'd  go  to  the  Fort  if  there  was 
danger.  But — answer  me  honest — outside  of  what's  hap- 
pened here,  do  you  think  there's  really  any  danger  ?  " 

"  Fron  Indians,  you  mean?  Well,  I'll  tell  you — this  was 
a  complete  surprise,  a  shock  to  me.  Because  so  far  we  have 
n't  seen  a  sign  of  the  hostiles  beyond  that  signal  in  the 
spring.  North  of  here,  at  Lincoln,  they've  shown  them- 
selves. But  they're  largely  concentrated  in  the  northwest, 
to  meet  the  troops." 

"  Then,  there's  no  danger  from  Indians." 

"  Still,  there  might  be,  and  I  want  you  to  come.  Frankly, 
I've  omitted  to  tell  you  of  one  disquieting  report  that  has 
reached  us.  After  the  recent  battle  on  the  Rosebud,  one 
of  the  warriors  of  Crazy  Horse  was  captured  by  General 
Crook.  The  prisoner  said  that  within  a  day's  ride  to  the 
west  of  here,  our — and  your — aged  friend — 

She  stopped  him,  lifting  her  hands  to  her  face.  "  Not 
him !  "  she  whispered ;  "  not  him!  Oh,  he  was  so  good  to 
us,  Captain !  " 

Oliver  sighed.  "I  fear  it's  so- -yet  it's  only  a  report." 


252  The  Plow-Woman 

Some  time  went  by.  Meanwhile,  she  walked  .about  the 
room  in  silence.  Her  lips  were  trembling. 

"You'll  come?  "he  said. 

"  When  you're  sure  " — she  spoke  with  difficulty — "  the 
Indians  are  going  to  make  trouble,  I  will.  But — but  I 
think  I'd  rather  stay.  I  made  dad  a  promise  once — I'd 
hate  to  break  it — now." 

"  Your  father  didn't  like  us,  I  understand.  I'm  sorry. 
And  of  course  you  feel  that  you  should  keep  your  promise 
to  him.  Well,  I  can  send  a  convoy  with  you  to  Bismarck." 

"We  haven't  a  cent. 'You  see,  I'm  counting  a  heap  on 
my  garden." 

"  Oh,  we  would  get  something  together  for  you." 

She  flinched.  "No,  I  wouldn't  like  that.  And  dad  'd 
hate  it  worse  than  if  I  broke  the  promise.  Besides,  I'm 
going  to  pay  back  B  Troop." 

"  B  Troop!  My  troop?  What  do  you  owe  B  Troop?  " 

"  Why,  B  Troop's  been  sending  us  its  surplus  rations." 

"You  sure?" 

"  Well,  the  sutler  said  so." 

"  I  think  there's  a  mistake.  B  Troop  has  had  no  surplus 
rations." 

"  Had  no "  she  began,  amazed. 

"  Must  have  been  the  sutler's  own  stuff." 

"  But  he  wrote "  From  between  the  leaves  of  a  book 

on  the  mantel,  she  produced  a  folded  paper. 

"  Or  someone  else's,"  went  on  Oliver. 

She  had  been  about  to  hand  him  Blakely's  letter.  Now, 
as  if  struck  by  an  idea,  she  put  it  back  into  the  book, 
When  she  turned,  her  eyes  were  swimming. 

"  It' likely  was  '  someone  else,'  "  she  said. 


The  Spirit  of  the  Frontier  253 

"  God  bless  you  anyway !  To  think  of  such  a  thing  in 
the  midst  of  your  worry !  Even  if  you  did  owe  B  Troop, 
it  would  vote  you  its  full  rations,  and  be  proud  to  go 
hungry.  Please  think  again  about  Bismarck  for  the 


summer. 
u 


I  can't  give  up  the  claim,  Captain.  I  want  to  know 
what  happened — I  want  to  be  here  if — if  dad  comes  back." 

"  But  aren't  you  forgetting  that,  Indians  or  no  In- 
dians, there's  danger  from  this  secret  enemy  ?  " 

"  Secret  enemy,"  she  echoed ;  "  secret  enemy.  Go  to 
Bismarck  is  just  'the  thing  he  wants  to  see  us  do.  You 
heard  what  he  did  in  the  winter?  Well,  he  came  again  yes- 
terday. He  saw  the  wagon  leave,  and  he  thought  it  was 
a  good  chance  to  move  in." 

"  Move  in  ?  "  rej  oined  Oliver.  "  If  that  was  all,  why  did 
he  bother  about  moccasins?" 

"  You're  right,"  she  cried.  "  He  meant  to  kill ! " 

And  now  as  if  some  great  hidden  spring  of  feeling  had 
been  touched,  she  came  round  upon  the  officer,  defiant, 
resolute  and  undaunted. 

"  Maybe  I'd  'a'  gone  before — I'd  go  this  minute  for 
Indians.  But  that  man ! — he's  had  his  price  for  this  claim, 
he's  had  his  price !  Now,  the  Bend  belongs  to  me — and  I'm 
going  to  stay." 

The  captain  bent  toward  her.  "  Too  risky,  too  risky, 
Miss  Lancaster,"  he  advised,  "  unless  we  get  the  man. 

For  how  could  you  ever  do  any  outside  work " 

-   Dallas  interrupted,  intrepid  spirit  ringing  in  her  voice. 

"  Get  him  or  not,  I'll  stick  it  out  all  the  same.  And  my 
outside  work — I'll  plow  and  I'll  plant  just  like  I  used  to. 
But  this  time,  I'll  do  it  with  a  gun !  " 


CHAPTER    XXV 
THE    INQUIRY 

A  REE  scout  scoured  every  foot  of  ground  leading 
up  to  the  shack.  He  trailed  the  mules,  The  Squaw, 
the  troopers.   He  followed  those  moccasin  prints 
that  came  across  the  draw  and  went  again.   He 
found  the  last  behind  the  lean-to,  along  the  side  nearest  the 
coulee,  on  the  back-fire  strip  in  front.  And  declared  they 
had  been  made  by  a  white  man. 

Two  circumstances  pointed  strongly  to  the  truth  of 
this :  The  body  had  been  carried  away  in  the  direction  of 
Shanty  Town ;  a  white  man  would  have  taken  so  much 
trouble,  not  an  Indian,  who  would  have  left  his  handiwork 
for  all  to  see.  And  again,  when  Shanty  Town  was  searched, 
one  of  the  huts  was  found  to  contain  evidence  of  late  oc- 
cupancy— scraps  of  food  that  were  not  yet  stale,  and,  in 
a  rusty  stove,  fresh  coals.  But  though  the  coulee,  the  road, 
the  prairie  and  the  timber  edging  the  river  were  all  faith- 
fully scanned,  one  thing  concerning  the  murderer's  doings 
remained  a  mystery.  At  Shanty  Town,  the  traces  of  him 
began  and  ended.  But  how  had  he  reached  Shanty  Town? 

Old  Michael  furnished  the  clue  of  time.  He  related  how 
he  had  heard  the  crack  of  a  gun  to  the  eastward  the  pre- 
vious evening,  "  about  th'  ind  av  th'  furst  dog-watch." 

Captain  Oliver  stayed  until  the  last  rod  had  been 
travelled  and  the  last  stone  turned.  Then,  he  was  ferried 
to  Brannon.  On  landing,  he  went  at  once  to  the  wife  of  his 

SM 


The  Inquiry  255 

colonel,  who  had  vacated  her  home  when  the  command  left 
and  was  now  living  with  Mrs.  Martin  at  Major  Appleton's. 

"  Mrs.  Cummings,"  he  said,  "  the  old  man  on  the  Bend 
is  missing.  It  looks  like  murder.  His  two  girls  are  left,  or- 
phaned and  heart-broken.  They  need  a  woman's  comfort, 
ma'am.  Will  you  not  go  to  them,  and  will  you  find  a 
woman  to  stay  with  them  for  a  few  nights  ?  " 

"  Oh,  how  very  sad !  "  exclaimed  that  lady  ;  then,  turned 
away  as  if  suddenly  perplexed.  "  I — I — really  don't  care 
to  go  myself,"  she  went  on,  when  she  had  given  his  request 
a  moment's  thought.  "  I  know  these  country  people — so 
touchy  and  taciturn,  always  ready  to  think  one  is  patron- 
ising them." 

"  One  usually  is,"  retorted  the  captain,  sharply. 
"  Then,  I  must  ask  somebody  else?  " 

"  One  of  the  troopers'  wives  would  probably  be  glad  to 

go-" 

"  You  are  evidently  quite  mistaken  regarding  these 
young  women,"  declared  Oliver,  with  some  heat.  "  Mrs. 
Oliver  will  think  differently." 

"  Really,  I  haven't  thought  of  them,"  she  answered 
petulantly.  "  But  why,  may  I  ask,  don't  they  come  to 
the  post?" 

"  They  prefer  to  stay  in  their  own  little  home.  In  their 
present  trouble  and  grief,  it  is  particularly  dear  to  them — 
would  be  to  anyone." 

"  I  think  it  odd,  Captain,  that  they  should  choose  to  stay 
over  there  alone.  Can — can  they  be — eh — quite  nice?" 

"  Madame,"  replied  Oliver,  sternly,  "  they  wish  to  do 
what  would  please  their  father;  they  wish  to  be  inde- 
pendent." 


256  The  Plow-Woman 

"  Ah !  "  Mrs.  Cummings  threw  up  her  head. 

"  And  let  me  say  that  I  heartily  commend  them,"  Oliver 
fairly  roared.  "  They  are  made  of  the  stuff  of  our  fore- 
fathers, who  pushed  their  way  into  the  wilderness.  Their 
spirit  is  the  spirit  of  the  frontier."  With  which,  bowing 
and  fuming,  the  captain  stamped  out. 

Mrs.  Oliver,  a  motherly  chunk  of  a  woman,  thought  very 
"  differently."  Work  and  babies  she  consigned  to  a  thrifty 
trooper's  wife  and,  in  a  jiffy,  pinned  on  a  bonnet  that  had 
stood  various  seasons.  "  I'll  be  back  in  the  morning,"  she 
said,  with  a  kiss  for  each  of  the  seven.  Then,  stuffing  a 
tidbit  or  two  into  the  wide  pockets  of  a  duster,  she  has- 
tened away. 

Captain  Oliver,  meanwhile,  had  cleared  the  front  room 
of  his  progeny  and  summoned  the  surgeon,  Lieutenant 
Fraser  and  Matthews. 

Matthews  came  last.  As  he  entered,  the  three  men  were 
struck  by  a  curious  change  in  him.  He  was  erect  and  some- 
what soldierly  in  his  bearing ;  he  had  let  his  hair  grow  until 
it  rested  upon  the  handkerchief  knotted  about  his  throat ; 
while  his  dress  now  aped  that  of  the  more  picturesque 
scouts,  yet  was  still  half  military.  Buckskin  trousers,  down 
which,  at  the  outer  seams,  was  a  dripping  of  fringe,  were 
tucked  into  high  boots.  Over  his  red  flannel  shirt  he  wore 
a  tunic  or  blouse,  also  of  buckskin,  fringed  the  length  of 
the  arms,  and  belted  at  the  waist  like  a  hunting-shirt.  A 
vest  no  longer  concealed  his  revolvers ;  his  weapons  were 
at  his  side,  like  a  trooper's.  In  one  gauntleted  hand,  he 
held  a  wide,  grey  hat. 

"  You  want  to  see  me,  Cap'n  ?  "  he  asked,  meeting  that 
officer's  look  squarely. 


The  Inquiry  257 

"  Yes,"  answered  Oliver,  shortly.  "  I  demand  an  exact 
account  of  your  time  for  the  past  thirty-six  hours,  be- 
ginning with  the  evening  after  the  departure  of  the  com- 
mand. I  need  not  tell  you  why  I  ask  this,  and  I  make  no 
apology  for  asking.  There  are  reasons  for  your  wanting 
that  old  man  over  there  out  of  the  way.  You  attacked 
his  house  in  the  winter  during  his  absence,  when  two  de- 
fenceless women  were  at  home  to  repel  your  attack.  That 
lays  you  open  to  mistrust.  I  may  add  that  Lancaster's 
eldest  girl  regards  you  as  her  father's  murderer." 

As  Oliver  talked,  his  woe-begone  face  had  grown  fierce 
and  dark.  Now,  he  arose,  lifting  clenched  fists.  "  Murder," 
he  cried ;  "  under  my  very  nose,  and  against  a  household 
that  I  had  sworn  to  guard.  Speak,  Matthews,  speak!  " 

Matthews  screwed  up  his  mouth  thoughtfully  and  looked 
into  space.  "  Beginning  the  ev'ning  after  the  command 
left  ?  "  he  said.  "  Let  me  see.  Why,  I  ain't  crossed  since 
the  Colonel  left." 

"  Account  for  your  time,"  repeated  Oliver. 

"  I  messed  at  Blakely's  that  night.  Afterward,  me  and 
Kippis  had  a  little  game." 

"What  game?" 

"  Cards." 

"  Ah  1 "  At  once,  Oliver  sent  for  the  sutler  and  the 
sergeant,  and,  waiting  for  them,  tramped  up  and  down. 
When  the  men  came,  he  halted  and  with  pointed  finger 
asked  Matthews  to  repeat  his  story.  The  interpreter 
did  so. 

"  And  how  long  did  that  game  last  ?  "  demanded  Oliver. 

Without  looking  in  Kippis'  direction,  the  interpreter 
answered.  "  Till  revelly,"  he  said. 


258  The  Plow-Woman 

Fraser  grunted,  the  surgeon  smiled  broadly.  But  the 
captain  frowned. 

"Of  that,  later,"  he  said   significantly.  "Kippis?" 

The  sergeant  stepped  forward.  "  Hit's  hall  true,  sir," 
he  faltered.  It  was  Kippis'  misfortune  always  to  look  more 
guilty  than  he  was.  With  Oliver's  angry  gaze  upon  him,  he 
flushed  redder  than  fire. 

The  captain  was  only  half  satisfied.  He  turned  to  the 
sutler.  "  And  you,  Blakeley  ?  " 

The  sutler  had  a  round,  jolly  figure — a  figure  that  was 
a  living  advertisement  of  the  fat-producing  quality  of  his 
edible  wares.  At  Oliver's  question  that  figure  gave  a 
startled  bounce,  like  a  kernel  of  corn  on  a  hot  grid.  "  True, 
sir,  true,"  he  vowed  huskily,  and  coughed  in  apprehension 
behind  a  plump  hand. 

The  captain  looked  keenly  from  man  to  man.  "  Very 
well,"  he  said.  Those  twelve  hours  accounted  for,  Matthews 
was  shown  innocent  of  planting  the  pole.  "  Tell  me  what 
you  did  yesterday  from  revelly  on." 

"  Slept  till  stables." 

"  I  know  that's  so,"  said  Fraser. 

"  After  that?  "  Oliver  asked. 

"  I  goes  into  the  stockade.  Little  Thief  was  carving  his 
bride." 

The  captain  glanced  at  Fraser.  The  latter  nodded 
back. 

"  I  remember,"  said  Oliver,  slowly.  "  Then ?  " 

"  Cards  till  revelly." 

The  listening  officers  laughed. 

But  there  was  no  softening  of  the  captain's  face. 
"Who  played  with  you?" 


The  Inquiry  259 

Matthews  indicated  the  sutler  and  the  sergeant  by  a 
sideways  move  of  the  head.  "  Them  two,"  he  answered. 

"Blakely?" 

"  True — true."  And  Blakely  gave  another  bounce. 

"Sergeant?" 

"  True's  f  ar's  Hi  know,  sir." 

The  thirty-six  hours  were  now  covered.  Oliver  sat  down. 
"  That  '11  do.  I  want  The  Squaw  and  the  men  who  have 
been  on  duty  at  the  stockade  since  the  command  left.  Mat- 
thews, you  may  go." 

Matthews  bowed,  Blakely  and  the  sergeant  saluted,  and 
the  three  withdrew.  Outside,  beyond  hearing,  they  ex- 
changed congratulatory  shakes  of  the  hand. 

"  My !  but  the  dander !  "  breathed  the  relieved  sutler, 
rolling  his  apple-round  head.  "  I  was  that  scairt !  " 

"  Make  you  happreciate  the  K.  Ho.  w'en  you  got  'im," 
returned  Kippis,  sagely. 

Matthews  shrugged  his  shoulders  pityingly.  But  he  had 
nothing  to  say. 

The  three  gone,  Oliver  had  turned  to  those  with  him.  "  A 
complete  alibi,"  he  said. 

"  I  knew  it,"  said  Fraser.  "  But  I  wanted  you  to  get  it 
first  hand." 

"You  knew?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  And  I  hope  you'll  be  easy  on  Kippis.  He  and 
Blakely  have  been  helping  me  keep  tab  on  Matthews  to 
prevent  the  very  thing  that's  happened." 

An  hour  later,  a  second  group  of  men  gathered  in  the 
captain's  front  room.  These  were  the  troopers  for  whom 
the  commanding  officer  had  asked.  With  them  came  Squaw 
Charley,  quaking  in  his  tatters,  flinching  at  every  look. 


260  The  Plow-Woman 

As  Oliver  appeared,  the  wretched  Indian  was  half -dragged, 
half-pushed  before  him. 

The  examination  was  short.  The  sentries  who  had 
tramped  the  high  board  walk  vouched  for  The  Squaw's 
constant  presence  in  the  stockade  throughout  the  whole 
of  the  required  time.  The  guards  at  the  sliding-panel  lent 
corroboration.  From  sun-up  till  taps  of  the  previous  day, 
Charley  had  fleshed  at  the  hide  of  an  elk,  the  scarred  fury, 
Afraid-of-a-Fawn,  hanging  over  him  the  while.  Both 
nights,  from  taps  on,  he  had  watched  outside  the  lodge 
occupied  by  the  hag  and  an  Indian  girl. 

Captain  Oliver  crossed  to  the  bend  to  tell  Dallas  his 
results.  "  Matthews  has  witnesses  who  know  where  he  was 
every  minute  of  the  time,"  he  said.  "  Undoubtedly  he  had 
no  active  part  in  this  affair." 

"  He  knows  about  it,  though,"  she  answered. 

"  That  would  be  hard  to  prove." 

Before  he  went,  the  captain  proposed  certain  defensive 
improvements  for  the  shack.  She  accepted  them  grate- 
fully. Later,  a  carpenter  nailed  thick  cleats  across  the 
warped  door,  and  the  post  blacksmith  put  heavy  lashes  of 
iron  over  the  eyes  of  the  shack. 

At  nightfall,  a  detachment  landed  on  the  east  bank, 
divided,  and  went  on  a  scout  in  opposite  directions.  It 
was  only  part  of  Oliver's  plan  of  guarding,  for  he  did 
one  thing  more — spoke  plainly  to  Matthews  in  regard  to 
the  bend. 

"  I  advise  you  to  relinquish  all  claim  to  the  Lancaster 
place,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  allow  no  warring  on  girls." 

Matthews  gave  his  promise. 

During  the   first   few   days   that  followed,   Marylyn's 


The  Inquiry  261 

heart  beat  pendulum-like  between  grief  and  dread.  It  was 
grief  when,  in  a  moment  of  forgetfulness,  she  found  that 
she  had  set  the  table  for  three ;  or  when,  missing  her  father 
sorely — for  in  the  past  year  he  had  been  much  with  her 
— she  spoke  of  him  to  Dallas.  At  such  times,  with  sweet 
impartiality,  she  mourned  him  as  sincerely  as  she  had 
mourned  her  mother.  But  at  night,  when  the  detachment 
came  back  from  its  scouting,  she  felt  a  terrible  dread — 
dread  least  the  hunt  had  been  successful,  and  the  troopers 
should  ride  across  the  prairie  to  the  shack  door,  bearing 
something  solemnly  home. 

Those  first  days  past,  however,  the  sharp  edge  of  her 
sorrow,  together  with  her  fears,  wore  gradually  away.  She 
had  the  elastic  spirit  of  eighteen.  And  she  was  impatient 
of  this  new  heartache,  which  possessed  none  of  the  ro- 
mantic qualities  of  the  old.  A  doubt  of  her  father's  death, 
fostered  by  Dallas,  grew  until  it  became  a  conviction.  He 
had  been  taken  away,  or  he  had  fled;  he  would  return. 
Meanwhile,  though  nothing  could  have  induced  her  to 
leave  the  shack  after  dark,  it  fretted  her  sorely,  that,  in 
the  daytime,  she  was  not  permitted  to  go  as  far  as  the 
grove. 

That  restriction  was  the  only  hardship  that  the  elder 
girl  allowed  the  younger  to  bear.  Dallas  believed  that  their 
father  had  come  to  mortal  harm.  But  she  never  shared 
that  belief  with  Marylyn. 

"  We  got  to  keep  a  stiff  upper  lip,  baby  sister,"  she 
would  say,  with  an  encouraging  pat.  And  her  smile  was 
always  hopeful  and  cheering. 

Mrs.  Oliver  came  daily,  and  spent  her  time  with  Mary- 
lyn. She  did  not  feel  that  Dallas  needed  buoying — Dallas, 


262  The  Plow-Woman 

quiet,  self-poised,  and  staunch.  Yet,  all  the  while,  the 
elder  girl  was  growing  wan  under  the  strain.  For,  having 
given  generously  of  her  strength,  there  was  no  one  from 
whom,  in  turn,  she  might  take.  And  so  her  thoughts  came 
often  to  be  of  the  one  who  had  faithfully  watched  over 
them,  how  faithfully,  shown  by  the  fact  that  catastrophe 
had  followed  swift  upon  his  leaving.  And  in  her  heart  she 
cried  out  for  him. 

The  tragedy  on  the  bend  furnished  a  nine  days'  wonder 
for  Brannon.  But  the  garrison  felt  little  grief  over  it. 
Lancaster  had  earned  their  dislike  by  insults  open  and 
veiled,  and  by  his  determination  to  cut  his  family  off  from 
every  friendly  influence.  The  enlisted  men  were  even  in- 
clined to  treat  his  disappearance  facetiously.  When  they 
heard  about  the  pole,  they  declared  that  in  his  fright  over 
it,  he  had  fired  a  shot,  cut  a  finger,  broken  a  crutch — and 
"  lit  out."  One  wag  announced  that  the  section-boss  was 
mired  in  some  alkali  mud-hole;  another,  that  he  had  been 
bitten  by  a  polecat ;  a  third  composed  some  doggerel  lines 
in  which  Lancaster  was  described  as  having  gone  "  over 
the  range."  Notwithstanding  this,  the  troopers  had  deep 
sympathy  for  the  bereaved  girls. 

Oliver,  never  too  popular,  they  scored  roundly  for  his 
treatment  of  Matthews,  and  vowed  to  the  latter  that  he  had 
ample  grounds  for  walking  off  and  leaving  the  whole 
"  shooting-match."  But  Matthews  gently  chided  them, 
reminding  them  that  any  moment  an  interpreter  might  be 
badly  needed.  Furthermore,  he  said,  he  would  disregard  the 
unfairness  shown  him,  for  he  knew  his  duty. 

Brannon  was  still  asking  Who?  and  Why?  and  How?  in 
the  Lancaster  affair  when  Squaw  Charley  discovered  and 


The  Inquiry  263 

showed  to  Captain  Oliver  the  testimony  that  had  in  some 
way  escaped  the  scout.  Under  a  willow  clump  on  the 
beach  before  Shanty  Town,  was  a  well-defined  mark  in  the 
sand,  V-shaped,  long,  and  quite  deep.  It  was  the  mark 
left  by  the  prow  of  a  boat  that  had  been  pulled  out  of 
the  water  and  hidden  at  the  river's  edge.  It  was  almost 
certain  proof  of  the  route  taken,  going  and  coming,  by 
Lancaster's  assailant. 

But  no  absolute  facts  were  unearthed.  As  the  days 
slipped  by,  this  cruel  one  became  apparent:  the  section- 
boss,  with  his  wild  outbursts  of  anger,  his  implacable 
hatreds,  his  suspicions,  and  his  tantrums  of  jealousy — 
was  gone. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 
BACKSLIDING 

ACROSS  the   sky,   a  pale  shining  ribbon,  stretched 

ZjL    the  Milky  Way.  The  braves  in  the  stockade  were 

JL    J^,  watching    it,    their    faces    reverently  upturned. 

They  sat  before  their  lodges  in  silent  knots  of 

two  or  three;    or  stood  apart  here  and  there,  shrouded  in 

summer   sheets   of   dressed   cow    skin,   and   motionless    as 

statues.  When  they  moved,  it  was  to  draw  heavily  upon  a 

pipestone  bowl  and  waft  the  incense  of  kinnikinick  toward 

the  glimmering  strip  overhead — the  sacred  road  that  leads 

the  Sioux  to  the  Happy  Hunting  Grounds. 

One  moon  had  passed  since  the  signal  smoke  arose  on 
Medicine  Mountain.  In  that  time,  though  they  had  fasted 
and  prayed,  not  a  crumb  of  hope  had  come  to  feed  their 
languishing  spirits.  Truly,  it  seemed  as  if  the  pied  buffalo 
were  bringing  them  more  than  a  generous  share  of  ill-luck. 
The  interpreter  told  them  only  evil  news:  That  all  but 
sixty  of  the  pony  soldiers  had  gone  to  hunt  and  kill  Indians. 
As  for  the  distant  peak,  from  it  had  curled  up  no  news 
at  all! 

They  gambled  no  more.  They  spoke  no  more  of  the 
captive  white  women.  The  four  condemned  brooded  in  their 
wigwams,  with  eyes  gloomy,  with  hair  unkempt.  Among 
the  squaws,  hot  discontent  was  working.  They  greeted 
even  those  who  brought  them  rations  with  black  looks  and 

364 


Backsliding  265 

menacing  gestures.  And  all — warriors  as  well  as  squaws 
— got  up  with  the  sun  and  paced  along  the  log  walls  like 
prisoned  animals,  wearing  a  deep  rut  into  the  earth. 

Throughout  the  winter  they  had  been  contented  enough 
with  their  lot.  In  no  other  winter  had  they  enjoyed  such 
freedom  from  labour  and  care,  such  health,  comfort,  and 
abundant  food.  But  now — the  grass  was  grazing  high. 
The  new  leaves  were  opening.  The  willows  were  in  bud. 
The  wild  fowl  were  back,  and  nesting  by  river  and  slough. 
In  lonely  ravines,  the  antelope  kids  were  bleating — proof 
that  it  was  the  killing  season  of  the  prong-horn.  And  here 
the  village  was  yet  shut  in  a  pen — like  pigs ! 

Soon: — it  might  be  any  day — the  four  chiefs  would  be 
dragged  out  to  die  by  the  rope.  If  the  rest  were  sent 
away,  would  it  not  be  to  some  reservation?  And  if,  by 
chance,  they  got  free?  Their  ponies  were  gone.  Where 
could  they  get  others?  Then  it  would  be  late  in  the  sum- 
mer, perhaps.  On  what  would  their  women  and  children 
live?  There  would  be  no  dried  meat  for  pemmican;  no 
caches  of  roots  or  berries;  no  packed  fish;  no  smoked 
tongue;  no  backfat — nothing.  And  all  would  go  hungry. 

The  post  saw  how  terrible  was  the  ferment  among  the 
hostage  crew.  And  following  David  Bond's  last  visit  to 
the  stockade,  had  used  extra  precautions.  The  officers' 
families  never  entered  the  sliding-panel  now,  but  climbed 
a  ladder  and  viewed  the  Indians  from  the  safe  height  of 
the  board  walk.  Anr  armed  escort  went  with  the  rations 
on  issue  days.  The  sentry  beats  were  halved,  and  the  num- 
ber of  watchers  thus  doubled.  And  every  night  a  detail 
entered  and  rigidly  searched  each  lodge,  to  see  that  no 
brave  was  trying,  after  the  fashion  of  the  badger,  to 


266  The  Plow-Woman 

burrow  a  way  out.  Squaw  Charley  alone  was  exempt 
from  any  new  ruling,  for  he  came  and  went  when  he 
chose. 

Yet  he  had  changed  in  no  less  degree  than  his  brothers, 
though  in  a  different  way.  The  word  from  Medicine 
Mountain  had  been  a  blow  to  quiver  under.  For  months 
the  outcast  whose  loyalty  The  Plow-Woman  boasted,  had 
been  slipping  from  his  old-time  fealty  to  her,  made  false 
by  his  dream  of  winning  back  his  rank.  In  a  moment  he 
had  seen  his  chance  for  honour  wiped  out.  Before  him 
again  there  lay  only  woman's  work,  curses,  beatings,  and 
a  life  with  the  dogs — even  worse :  to  see  her  whom  he  cov- 
eted going  to  Standing  Buffalo ! 

He  could  bear  the  curses  and  the  cruelty.  He  could 
sit  quiet  under  the  ridicule  that  outraged  the  childish 
vanity  of  his  kind.  He  could  thirst.  He  could  starve.  But, 
returning  to  the  roof  one  night,  he  had  prowled  yearn- 
ingly past  her  lodge.  And  had  come  upon  her  and  her  new 
lover,  standing  cheek  to  cheek,  close  wrapped  in  a  single 
blanket. 

And  so  this  night,  while  the  warriors  watched  the  sacred 
track  upon  the  sky,  he  made  his  way  to  the  river.  For 
there  he  meant  to  plead  the  God  of  David  Bond,  that  He 
send  him  a  chance  for  valour — a  chance  to  slay.  Out  in 
the  starlight,  therefore,  he  fell  upon  his  knees. 

But  before  his  simple  mind  had  framed  his  petition, 
there  entered  a  thought  that  puzzled  and  alarmed.  He 
pondered  upon  it.  The  God  of  David  Bond  was  a  God  of 
Peace,  Who  frowned  in  awful  anger  upon  fighting  and 
bloodshed.  The  preacher  had  said  so.  Had  taught  "  Thou 
shalt  not  kill !  "  Had  taught  that  no  answers  were  vouch- 


Backsliding  267 

safed  to  wicked  prayers;  but  punishments,  instead.  How 
then  could  a  prayer  of  that  kmd  be  sent  to  Him! 

The  outcast  was  dismayed. 

Then  came  a  happier  idea.  The  God  of  David  Bond 
being  a  God  of  peace,  why  trouble  His  ear?  Why  not  pray 
this  one  prayer  for  blood  to  the  Great  Spirit  he  had  served 
before — the  Great  Spirit  who  marked  out  the  destinies  of 
the  Dakotas,  who  was  ever  strongest  in  times  of  war? 

Hurriedly  The  Squaw  got  to  his  feet  and  ran  to  the  edge 
of  the  bank,  where  there  were  climbing  lengths  of  grape- 
vine. Degraded,  he  might  not  use  tobacco  for  a  rite.  But 
the  Great  Spirit  would  understand.  In  the  dark,  his  hands 
felt  for  and  found  a  dry  stalk.  He  snapped  off  a  finger- 
length  of  it. 

A  second  to  take  flint  and  steel  from  his  buckskin  pouch. 
Another  to  light  the  bit  of  vine.  Then 

But  he  did  not  sit  upon  the  ground  with  crossed  legs. 
Neither  did  he  pull  upon  the  vine.  He  let  it  go  out,  instead. 
And  sank  hesitatingly  to  his  knees.  For,  again,  he  had 
remembered ! 

David  Bond  had  said :  "  The  red  man's  god  is  poor 
and  stingy.  He  lets  his  people  want  and  starve.  He  lets 
enemies  triumph  over  them,  and  destroy.  But  the  God  of 
the  white  man  is  rich  and  good.  See  how  generously  He 
gives  to  those  who  serve  Him !  Yet — lest  you  anger  Him — 
have  none  other.  Because  He  is  a  jealous  God !  " 

He  might  not  pray  to  either  then !  He  lifted  despairing 
eyes — and  saw  above  him,  divinely  luminous,  that  sacred 
path,  glittering  white  with  the  hastening  spirits  of  the 
dead. 

He  put  a  ragged  sleeve  across  his  eyes  to  shut  out  the 


268  The  Plow-Woman 

sight.  It  brought  a  picture  he  longed  to  forget — the  ter- 
rible picture  of  his  downfall: 

It  was  a  spring  day,  and  the  Uncapapas,  to  make  ready 
for  battle,  were  dancing  the  great  sun-dance.  He  was  the 
chief  Moon  Dog  then,  haughty  as  any,  brave  as  the  next, 
given  to  warfare  and  the  shedding  of  blood.  In  the  great 
tent,  it  was  he  who  led. 

He  was  naked,  save  for  a  loin-cloth.  Coup-sticks  were 
braided  in  his  hair.  Eagle  feathers  trailed  from  his  scalp- 
lock.  The  skin  of  his  body  was  hidden  beneath  devices. 

He  signified  a  wish  to  suffer  wounding,  to  have  willow 
wands  run  through  the  flesh  of  his  back.  Standing  Buffalo 
was  dancing  beside  him.  And  it  was  that  warrior's  knife 
which  leaped  from  its  beaded  sheath  to  do  the  cutting. 

And  then  the  wounds  weakened  the  chief  Moon  Dog. 
The  wands  tore  his  flesh  past  all  power  to  endure.  And  he 
knew  nothing.  But  when  the  squaws  brought  him  to  life 
again,  they  told  him  that,  like  a  squaw,  he  had  pleaded 
for  mercy — and  wept ! 

For  this  he  was  branded,  spat  upon,  cast  out,  and  cursed. 
For  this  he  had  gone  hungry,  scoured  kettles,  and  herded 
with  the  dogs. 

David  Bond  had  come,  telling  him  of  One  Who  was 
bruised,  reviled,  and  nailed  to  a  tree.  That  One  was  the 
God  of  the  white  man.  Broken  in  spirit,  The  Squaw  had 
accepted  Him. 

Yet — what  had  the  new  God  done  for  him  ?  Was  his  work 
lighter?  No!  Was  the  food  not  the  cast-off's  still,  fouled 
by  the  touch  and  the  tongues  of  others  and  by  the  dirt 
of  the  pen?  Yes.  If  the  new  God  was  good,  why  had  He 
not  saved  the  evangelist? 


Backsliding  269 

The  soul  of  Squaw  Charley  tottered. 

Hark! 

Overhead,  a  high-sailing  crane  bugled.  But  to  the  out- 
cast, the  lonely  night-cry  seemed  supernatural,  a  hail  from 
one  of  the  departed ! 

He  uncovered  his  eyes  and  looked  up.  Above  him 
stretched  the  pale,  shining  ribbon  of  the  Milky  Way. 

Again  the  crane  sounded  its  rousing,  guttural  cry.  He 
shook  himself,  as  if  to  free  his  body  from  a  chain. 

Once  more  he  took  out  flint  and  steel  and  lit  the  bit  of 
grapevine.  Then,  he  sank  to  the  prairie,  where  he  crossed 
his  legs  like  a  brave.  Now,  with  deep  breath,  he  drew  upon 
the  stem.  His  nostrils  filled,  he  tipped  back  his  head ;  and 
from  them,  upward  to  the  path,  sent  wreath  upon  wreath 
of  adoring  smoke. 


CHAPTER    XXVII 
SIMON    PLAYS    A    PART 

ONE  morning  in  early  July,  Matthews  came  swag- 
gering into  the  post  barber-shop,  his  air  that  of 
a  man  who  is  mightily  pleased  with  himself. 
"  Bill,"  said  he,  as  he  flung  off  blouse  and  hat, 
"  wish  you'd  mow  down  this  stubble  of  mine." 

The  barber  set  about  stropping  a  razor.  "  Don't  want 
your  mane  trimmed?  "  he  inquired.  "  Strikes  me — eh — it's 
pretty  long." 

The  interpreter  loosened  the  collar  of  his  shirt  and  took 
a  chair.  "  Never  you  mind  about  my  mane,"  he  answered. 
"  It's  just  as  long  's  I  want  it.  You  turn  loose  on  my  chin." 
He  leaned  back  to  elevate  a  pair  of  bright-topped  boots. 

The  other  directed  his  gaze  upon  the  sharpening  blade. 
"  Do  you  happen  t'  know  Portugee?  "  he  asked  humbly. 
"  One  of  the  boys  is  loony  on  a  gal  at  Bismarck  that  he 
ain't  writ  to  for  a  year.  She's  Portugee " 

Matthews  gave  a  dismissing  wave  of  the  hand.  "  I  savvy 
English  and  most  Injun,"  he  said;  "  none  of  them  fancy 
languages,  though.  I  been  to  school  only  a  week  in  my 
hull  life.  That  was  down  in  Omyha,  and  one  week  was 
plenty."  At  the  remembrance,  he  shook  with  silent  laugh- 
ter. "  That  week,  as  I  say,  was  'nough  for  me.  The  teacher 
— she  was  a  lady,  mind  y' ! — tries  to  tell  me  that  it's  the 
same  blamed  sun  we  see  comin'  up  every  mornin'.  '  Look 

270 


Simon  Plays  a  Part  271 

a-here,  now,'  I  says ;  '  don't  we  git  a  new  moon  onct  in  a 
while?  Then,  what's  the  matter  with  havin'  a  change  of 
sun?  '  Well,  that  plumb  stumped  her.  She  shut  up." 

The  barber  was  now  ready  for  operations,  so  Matthews 
adjusted  his  shoulders,  closed  his  pink-lidded  eyes,  and 
followed  the  suit  of  his  nonplussed  teacher. 

"  Bill  "  felt  there  was  something  in  the  wind,  and  longed 
to  question  Matthews,  yet  dared  not.  The  interpreter, 
formerly  so  feared,  and  even  disliked,  by  the  enlisted  men, 
was  now  regarded  in  B  Troop  as  a  generally  misunderstood 
and  maligned  individual — this  in  consequence  of  the  Lan- 
caster inquiry.  Hence,  he  was  playing  the  role  of  injured 
innocence,  and  seriously  taking  himself  for  a  popular  hero. 
He  was  more  cocksure  and  conceited  than  ever  before,  and 
more  prone  to  brag  and  bully.  Scraping  diligently  away, 
the  barber  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  even  letting  the 
razor  slip. 

Kippis  was  less  respectful.  He  entered  when  Matthews 
was  rising,  all  redolent  of  bay-rum,  and  surveyed  the  latter 
in  mock  amaze.  "  My,  ho,  my ! "  he  cried.  "  Hain't  we 
bloomin'  fine !  " 

Majtthews  wriggled  those  faint  lines  upon  his  glistening 
forehead  that  served  for  eyebrows.  "  You  go  soak  your 
head,"  he  retorted. 

"  And  no  gun  hon  'is  'ip,"  went  on  the  sergeant.  "  But 
w'y,  ho,  w'y  does  'e  wear  red  shirts  ?  " 

The  interpreter  spraddled  out  his  legs.  "  Folks  git  rich 
mindin'  their  own  business,"  he  said  meaningly. 

Kippis  could  not  forego  a  last  jibe.  "  Person  'd  halmost 
think  you's  goin'  sparkin',"  he  declared. 

Matthews  gave  a  start,  and  his  keen  eyes  shot  a  search- 


272  The  Plow-Woman 

ing  glance  at  the  sergeant's  smiling  countenance.  What 
he  read  there  reassured  him.  The  other  was  bantering  with- 
out a  notion  that  he  approached  the  truth.  The  interpreter 
shrugged  and  stalked  out.  Within  the  hour,  he  was  on  his 
way  to  the  Lancasters'. 

He  did  not  go  to  the  shack,  however.  From  the  cotton- 
woods,  he  spied  Dallas  at  work  in  the  corn,  so  he  directed 
his  steps  thither.  She  did  not  see  him.  Her  back  was  toward 
the  river,  and  the  sun  was  glinting  on  her  swinging  hoe. 
Beyond  her,  on  a  picket-rope,  was  Simon,  the  bull.  He 
was  travelling  in  a  restless  circle,  and  sending  lonesome 
blasts  across  the  deserted  prairie.  He,  alone,  saw  the  in- 
terpreter, and  paused  in  his  rounds,  head  raised  and  eyes 
bulging  inquiringly. 

Dallas  weeded  on,  unconscious  of  a  visitor.  The  corn 
was  shoulder-high  now,  and  bearded.  Its  long  leaves 
swayed  and  whispered,  covering  the  sound  of  Matthews' 
approach.  But  when  he  was  yet  some  rods  off,  a  flock  of 
ground-sparrows  rose  before  him  with  startled  twitters. 
At  that,  she  looked  back.  The  next  instant,  she  had  caught 
up  the  Sharps. 

Matthews  halted  and  lifted  his  hat,  displaying  hair 
pasted  down  to  a  silky  smoothness.  "  I  ain't  got  no  gun," 
he  said  quietly.  "  I  jus'  come  for  to  have  a  talk." 

She  made  no  answer. 

The  interpreter  shifted  from  foot  to  foot  and  mopped 
his  forehead.  "  I  allus  been  sorry  for  what  I  done  las' 
winter,"  he  went  on.  "  I  was  a  blame  fool  to  come  scarin' 
you  gals — ought  to  knowed  better.  But,  you  see,  when  I 
started,  nobody  told  me  there  was  women  folks  over  here." 

Dallas  took  a  deep  breath. 


Simon  Plays  a  Part  273 

66 1  wanted  to  tell  you,"  continued  Matthews.  "  And — 
and  I  wanted  to  say  I  feel  sorry  about  you'  losin'  your  pa. 
Now  he's  dead,  I  wouldn't  take  this  here  land  if  you  come 
to  me  and  says,  '  Nick,  it's  yourn.'  That's  jus'  the  way  I 
feel — yes,  ma'am.  I  savvy  how  to  treat  a  lady,  Miss  Lan- 
caster, gentlemanly  and  honourable." 

"  You  talk  nice,"  commented  the  girl. 

His  look  faltered  from  hers.  He  gave  his  hard  laugh. 
"  You're  a  little  out  of  temper,"  he  said  soothingly. 
"  That's  natural,  though.  You  had  a  lot  of  trouble." 

"  My  trouble's  all  owing  to  you,"  she  answered  passion- 
ately. "  And  I'll  thank  you  to  go — right  now." 

He  put  out  a  hand  in  expostulation.  "  Jus'  a  minute," 
he  begged.  "  You  done  me  wrong,  but  I  don't  hold  it 
ag'in  you.  Jus'  believe  I  didn't  hurt  your  pa.  And  I 
admire  you  and  your  sister — sure  I  do.  By  golly !  You're 
blamed  sandy ! " 

"  You  take  big  chances  to  come  here." 

"  Now,  Miss  Lancaster !  "  His  chin  sank.  He  wagged 
his  head  dolefully.  Then,  whether  from  warmth,  or  a  de- 
sire to  display  the  glories  of  his  raiment,  he  took  off  his 
blouse. 

As  he  talked,  in  a  half -whine  that  was  meant  to  be  pla- 
cating, Simon  suddenly  became  a  more  interested  spectator. 
He  began  to  revolve  again,  and  at  the  very  end  of  his 
rope,  slipping  around  with  tigerish  gracefulness;  or,  the 
rope  taut,  he  halted  as  near  as  possible  to  the  two  in  the 
corn,  stamped  one  forefoot  angrily  and  shook  his  curly 
head.  There,  a  bold  affront,  was  that  blot  of  glaring 
scarlet.  It  awoke  in  him  a  long-slumbering  lust  for  fight. 

But  the  interpreter  did  not  remark  the  bull.  After  re- 


274.  The  Plow-Woman 

peated  praise  and  condolence,  he  had  arrived  at  the  main 
object  of  his  visit. 

"  I  got  a  proposition  to  make  you,"  he  was  saying,  the 
while  he  cooled  himself  with  his  hat.  "  It's  jus'  this,  and 
it  puts  a'  end  to  the  hull  row.  You  and  me  will  forgit 
what's  past  and  done.  Eh?  "  He  paused  impressively,  and 
threw  out  an  arm  toward  the  shack.  Smoke  was  curling 
out  of  the  chimney.  A  slender  figure  was  flitting  to  and 
fro  within  the  open  door.  "  And  if  I  come  to  see  the  little 
one,  maybe  it  '11  be  O.  K.  ?  "  To  make  himself  clearer,  he 
touched  a  hand  to  his  mouth  and  wafted  toward  the  house 
a  smacking  kiss. 

Sudden  fury  seized  Dallas.  Her  lips  moved. 

A  few  rods  away  was  another  as  furious,  one  whose  eyes 
were  as  red  as  the  interpreter's.  Simon  was  pawing  with 
alternate  hoofs,  and  tossing  dirt  and  grass  into  the  air. 
With  each  stroke  he  gave  a  sullen  rumble. 

"  Now,"  proceeded  Matthews,  speaking  from  one  side 
of  his  mouth,  "  you  and  me  wouldn't  jibe."  He  giggled 
with  a  feeble  attempt  at  mirth.  "  But  your  sister,  she's 
a  nice  little  gal.  And  she'd  like  me.  I'm 

He  got  no  further,  nor  was  Dallas  given  time  to  reply. 
A  resonant  blare  rang  through  the  lanes  of  corn.  Then 
came  the  sound  of  trotting.  They  turned,  to  behold  Simon 
advancing.  He  had  jerked  up  the  picket-pin! 

Matthews  saw  his  peril.  With  a  curse  of  alarm  he 
dropped  coat  and  hat  and  made  for  the  coulee. 

But  to  no  use.  The  sight  of  that  fleeing  red  maddened 
the  bull.  His  feet  stretched  to  a  gallop,  his  broad  horns 
lowered  until  his  muzzle  touched  the  grass,  his  tail  sprang 
out  to  the  level  of  his  curly  back.  With  the  picket-rope 


Simon  Plays  a  Part  275 

hissing  across  his  flanks,  and  with  no  eye  for  his  mistress, 
he  bore  down  upon  the  hapless  Matthews. 

"  Shoot  him !  Shoot "  screamed  Matthews.  The 

bull  was  at  his  heels.  With  quick  thought,  he  side-stepped. 

It  gave  him  a  brief  respite.  But,  since  Simon  went  on  for 
a  space  and  then  wheeled,  it  also  cut  him  off  from  the  coulee. 
He  tore  toward  the  shack,  now.  After  him,  tether  whip- 
ping among  the  stalks,  charged  the  bull.  Again  the  in- 
terpreter side-stepped,  just  in  time,  and  with  the  dexterity 
of  a  matador.  But  Simon  was  more  alert,  and  came  about 
like  a  cow-pony,  emitting  terrible  bellows.  Matthews  fled 
toward  Dallas.  His  face  was  a  sickly  green ;  his  hair  was 
loosened  and  waved  backward  in  the  sun. 

"  Simon !  "  cried  Dallas,  as  the  two  went  by. 

Matthews  was  winded,  and  when  the  bull's  hot  breath 
fanned  his  back  for  the  third  time,  he  resorted  to  strategy. 
Once  more  stepping  aside,  and  escaping  the  sharp  horns 
by  less  than  a  foot,  he  followed,  and,  in  desperation,  seized 
Simon  by  the  tail. 

And  now  the  bull's  anger  was  suddenly  changed  to  fear ; 
his  desire  to  horn  that  scarlet  thing  became  a  desire  to 
get  rid  of  it.  With  a  bawl  of  terror  he  darted  this  way 
and  that,  trying  to  shake  himself  free,  and  swinging  Mat- 
thews clear  of  ihe  ground.  This  method  failed.  At  once 
he  adopted  new  tactics.  Bellowing,  he  raced  away  through 
the  corn,  dragging  the  interpreter  astride  of  the  stalks, 
plowing  up  the  earth  with  him,  rolling  him  feet-first  or 
sidelong  down  the  rows.  But  like  grim  death,  and  with 
raucous  oaths,  Matthews  hung  on. 

Out  of  the  corn  to  the  coulee  road,  they  went — when 
Simon  saw  the  grove  at  the  landing.  Among  those  trees 


276  The  Plow-Woman 

many  a  pestering  buffalo-fly  had  been  outwitted ;  there, 
where  grapevines  tangled,  many  a  mosquito  had  been 
rubbed  away.  Quick  as  a  flash,  Simon  made  for  the  cut, 
with  Matthews  coming  breathlessly  after. 

The  interpreter  thanked  his  stars  for  the  bull's 
manoeuvre.  The  grove  would  give  him  shelter;  he  could 
dodge  behind  a  friendly  trunk,  or  shin  one  to  safety. 
He- 
Simon  had  stopped  to  indulge  in  more  whiplash  waltzing, 
and  the  arm-weary  Matthews  could  scarcely  keep  his  hold. 
"  Ma-a-aw!  Ma-a-aw!  "  roared  the  bull.  Then,  discour- 
aged, he  shot  forward  again. 

But  now  fright  consumed  him,  and  he  lost  thought  of 
scratching  free  of  his  tormentor.  His  red  eyes  were  pop- 
ping from  his  curly  face.  His  mouth  was  wide.  His  tongue 
lolled.  With  great  jumps,  he  sped  straight  through  the 
grove. 

It  was  all  too  swift  for  calculation.  Matthews  was  con- 
scious only  of  a  great  wind,  of  an  invisible  power  that 
bound  him  to  that  bull's  tail,  of  a  dull  roar  in  the  ears,  a 

blur  in  the  eyes 

Simon  leaped  the  hedge  of  fruit-hung  grapevines,  poised 
for  a  second  on  the  brink  of  the  river's  caving  bank — his 
feet  together,  his  neck  stretched.  Then,  the  red  of  him 
disappeared.  And,  after  it,  the  more  vivid  tuft  at  the  end 
of  his  tail. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII 
A    CHANGE    IN    PLAN 

IT  was  Old  Michael  who  fished  the  interpreter  from 
his  unwelcome  bath.  Choking  with  rage  and  spewing 
muddy  water,  Matthews  was  hauled  into  the  stern  of  a 
pirogue.  There,  while  the  pilot  rowed  slowly  to  the 
Brannon  shore,  he  stretched  his  sorry,  bedrabbled  figure — 
a  figure  in  striking  contrast  to  that  of  an  hour  before.  His 
handkerchief  hung  upon  one  ear,  his  red  shirt  clung,  his 
buckskin    trousers,    dark    and    slick    from    their    sousing, 
bellied  with  water  let  in  at  the  band;  his  bright-topped 
boots  spurted  like  pump-nozzles,  his  pale  hair  straggled 
and  dripped  into  his  eyes. 

When  the  boat  touched  at  the  steamer-side,  he  raised 
himself  to  look  back.  Simon  was  leisurely  ascending  the 
cut,  and  reaching  to  left  and  right  for  tender  wisps  of 
vine.  Matthews  gave  his  hard  laugh.  "  I'll  make  meat  of 
you"  he  promised  savagely.  Then  he  turned  to  Michael. 

The  Irishman  was  leaning  back,  steadying  his  craft 
against  the  bank  with  one  hand,  holding  his  stub  pipe  out 
in  the  other.  His  blowzy  face  was  blowzier  than  ever.  Down 
it,  from  his  closed  lids,  ran  the  teardrops,  chasing  one 
another  into  the  black-notched  cavern  of  his  mouth. 

Here  was  a  culprit  handy  to  the  moment's  anger.  Mat- 
thews arose  in  his  squashing  boots.  "  You  lop-eared  son-of- 
a-gun,  who  you  laughin'  at  ?  "  he  demanded. 

277 


278  The  Plow-Woman 

The  cavern  widened  till  the  face  was  split  in  two. 
"  W-w-w-a/&/  "  gasped  the  pilot. 

"  Maybe  you  think  it  was  funny,"  said  the  interpreter, 
with  suave  heat.  Cunning  deviltry  distorted  his  features. 
And,  stepping  forward  in  the  boat,  he  kicked  Michael  on 
a  bunion. 

Pain  sobered  the  pilot.  With  a  roar  of  "  Howley  smoke !  " 
he  swung  his  paddle  aloft. 

The  interpreter  was  too  quick  for  him.  Like  a  fright- 
ened muskrat,  he  sought  the  water,  floundered  to  a  solid 
footing,  and  waded  out.  "  You  will  monkey  with  a  buzz- 
saw!"  he  taunted.  "  Jus9  wait." 

Clinging  to  his  injured  foot,  Old  Michael  rocked  himself 
and  cursed.  But  not  for  long.  He  was  soon  rambling 
toward  the  barracks.  "  For,"  he  argued,  "  there's  more 
'n  wan  way  t'  kill  a  cat." 

In  a  frontier  post,  news  flies  with  the  dust  in  the  air. 
Soon  the  story  of  Matthews  and  the  bull  had  spread  to 
every  soul  at  Brannon.  The  Line  chatted  it  from  gallery 
to  gallery.  Clothes-Pin  Row  digested  it  in  hilarious  groups. 
At  barracks,  it  set  the  men  to  swapping  yarns.  "  I  knowed 
a  feller  onct  that  was  goin'  past  a  bull-pen,"  declared  one 
trooper,  "  and  he  had  a  pail  of  cherries,  and  I'll  be  darned 
if—  '  "  But,  say !  Down  home,  one  time,"  put  in  a 
second,  "  there  was  a  vaquero  with  a  red  sash  that  was 

stoopin'  to  fix  a  flank  girth,  and "  "  Why,  that  ain't 

a  two-spot  to  what  happened  in  Kansas  a  year  ago  this 
summer.  The  purtiest  gal  I  ever  seen — you  know  them 
Kansas  gals  can  be  purty — she  had  a  wig  that  'd  keep 
your  hands  warm  in  January.  Well " 

When,  however,  the  surgeon  recounted  the  story  at  the 


A  Change  in  Plan  279 

bachelors'  noon  mess,  mirth  over  it  was  noticeably  lacking. 
To  the  little  circle  of  officers  there  was  nothing  comical  in 
the  fact  that  a  man  from  the  post  had  molested  the  girls 
so  recently  orphaned.  And  all  save  Fraser  vowed  stormily 
that  Matthews  would  be  called  to  account.  The  young 
lieutenant  said  nothing. 

Before  the  meal  ended,  the  interpreter  came  in.  He  had 
changed  his  clothes  and  restored  his  hair  to  its  pris- 
tine smoothness.  He  gave  the  group  his  usual  bob  and 
smile. 

Cold  stares  answered  him — from  all  but  one,  who  fairly 
bounded  from  his  chair.  It  was  Fraser,  face  red,  shoulders 
working  under  the  blue  of  his  uniform.  He  planted  him- 
self before  Matthews. 

"  You  damned  blackguard  I "  he  gasped. 

The  other  looked  highly  amused.  "  What's  got  into  your 
craw,  sonny?  "  he  inquired. 

"  You  damned  blackguard ! "  repeated  Fraser.  And 
struck  out. 

An  amazed  and  delighted  mess  room  looked  on.  For 
Fraser,  the  tender-hearted,  Fraser,  the  pink-cheeked 
"  mamma's  darling,"  was  battering  the  interpreter  ham- 
mer and  tongs ! 

From  the  doorway  the  captain's  voice  interrupted  the 
battle,  and  the  two  men  were  pulled  apart.  Matthews  fell 
to  wiping  at  his  stained  lips,  which  had  magically  puffed 
to  proportions  suggesting  those  of  the  colonel's  black 
cook.  While  the  lieutenant  was  panting,  and  struggling 
wildly  to  get  free. 

Oliver  thrust  the  latter  behind  him  and  addressed  the 
interpreter.  "  I'm  not  stopping  this  boy  because  I  don't 


280 


The  Plow-Woman 


think  you  need  a  sound  thrashing,"  he  said.  "  I'd  like  to 
see  you  walloped  within  an  inch  of  your  life.  But  I  can't 
have  this  kind  of  thing  going  on." 

"  I  wasn't  goin'  to  tech  them  gals,"  lisped  Matthews. 
"  I  ain't  no  city  tough." 

"  We  shan't  need  your  services  at  Brannon  any  longer. 
You  light  out." 

After  that,  mess  went  merrily  on.  "  Didn't  know  you 
had  it  in  you,  Fraser,"  marvelled  one  officer.  "  By 
crackey !  "  added  a  second.  "  How  you  can  slug !  "  The 
surgeon  sighed.  "  No  one  has  ever  understood  Robert," 
said  he,  "  but  women,  critters,  and  kids." 

And  now  Matthews'  blood  was  up,  and  under  his  sloping 
forehead  the  grey-matter  was  bubbling  and  boiling  like 
the  soup  in  the  sutler's  pot.  He  hurled  out  terrible  oaths — 
against,  the  shack,  against  Captain  Oliver,  against  Fraser, 
against  the  old  pilot.  Dallas  Lancaster  had  made  a  cheap 
spectacle  of  him ;  the  commanding  officer  had  ordered  him 
to  leave  Brannon ;  the  "  unlicked  calf  "  of  a  lieutenant  had 
whipped  him  out  of  hand ;  and  the  man  most  ready  to  guzzle 
his  liquor  had  gone  through  the  barracks  a-blabbing. 

He  hurried  to  his  room  to  pack  his  belongings.  "  I'll 
fix  'em,  I'll  fix  'em,"  he  raged.  "  I'll  git  even  with  the  hull 
crowd." 

He  halted  at  a  window  and  looked  across  the  Missouri 
at  the  little  shack.  "  When  the  reds  go  to  the  reservation, 
that'll  do  for  you"  he  said.  "  But — how  can  I  soak  them 
damned  shoulder-straps  ?  " 

It  was  then  that  a  change  in  his  plan  came  to  his  mind. 
Why  wait  until  the  Indians  were  sent,  if 

The  more  he  thought  of  the  change,  the  better  he  liked 


A  Change  in  Plan  281 

it.  "  One  deal,  and  everybody  fixed.  Land  '11  be  mine,  and 
there'll  be  some  court-martiallin'." 

He  determined  to  get  into  the  stockade  for  a  last  talk 
with  the  hostages.  If  they  approved  what  he  proposed,  he 
would  promise  them  his  services.  Yes,  he  would.  The  value 
of  the  quarter-section  had  made  him  fight  for  the  Bend. 
But  this  was  a  horse  of  another  colour.  His  pride  had  been 
outraged — for  that  he  would  have  his  quits. 

His  conduct  earlier  in  the  day,  and  the  fight  at  the 
sutler's,  gave  place,  that  afternoon,  to  other  and  more  dire- 
ful news.  A  steamer  touched  on  its  way  down  the  river  and 
told  of  the  Custer  massacre.  Not  a  trooper  at  Brannon  but 
had  lost  a  friend ;  not  an  officer  but  had  lost  several.  Gloom 
settled  upon  the  post,  and  Matthews  was  forgotten. 

He  took  advantage  of  that.  Before  an  order  went  out 
to  prevent  him,  he  went  through  the  wicket  of  the  sliding- 
panel  and  gathered  around  him  the  four  chiefs  named  in 
Cummings'  ultimatum.  They  were  more  sullen,  unhappy, 
and  discouraged  than  ever.  A  few  words,  and  he  had  them 
breathless  with  interest 

"  You  must  look  to  me  alone  for  freedom  now,"  he  said. 
"  There  has  been  a  great  battle  in  the  Valley  of  the  Greasy 
Grass.  Custer,  the  Long  Hair,  met  Sitting  Bull  and  his 
allies.  And  Custer  and  all  his  men  are  dead." 

"  Ho,  hos,"  of  joy  greeted  the  announcement. 

"  Yet  this  is  not  good  for  you.  There  will  be  other  bat- 
tles. Your  brothers  will  have  no  time  to  come  and  rescue 
you.  Even  your  friends,  the  Scarred- Arms,  will  not  help. 
For  it  is  said  that  the  Cheyenne  warriors  are  gone  to  join 
the  Sioux " 

"  What  of  the  two  white  squaws  that  were  captured  ?  " 


282  The  Plow-Woman 

asked  Shoot-at-the-Tree  anxiously.  "  And  what  of  us — 
is  there  danger?  " 

"  The  women  are  still  with  your  people.  And  who  knows 
what  may  happen  soon?  So  I  come  to  speak  of  your  de- 
livery. I  shall  get  you  free — you  shall  free  my  land." 

"  But  our  women,"  suggested  Standing  Buffalo,  his  eye 
straying  toward  a  tent  at  the  stockade's  centre ;  "  they  go 
free,  too?  " 

"  That  is  impossible.  But  what  does  it  matter  ?  When 
you  are  gone,  your  women  and  children  will  be  cared  for — 
put  upon  a  reservation.  From  there,  you  can  steal  them 
back." 

"  But  how  can  we  get  free?  "  inquired  Lame  Foot.  "  Tell 
us  quickly." 

Matthews  drew  the  four  chiefs'  heads  together  and 
whispered  to  them. 

After  a  time,  all  rose. 

"  Shall  we  have  guns  ?  "  inquired  Canada  John. 

"  No — bows  and  arrows.  I  can  get  them,  and  hide  them 
in  my  board  lodge  across  the  river." 

Lame  Foot  pouted.  "  Our  brothers  who  are  fighting 
have  fine  new  rifles  from  Standing  Rock." 

"  Rifles  I  cannot  get,"  said  Matthews. 

"  But,"  said  Standing  Buffalo,  "  if  we  cross  to  your 
lodge  and  get  our  bows  and  arrows,  will  not  the  pony 
soldiers  follow  in  their  smoking-canoe  ?  " 

"  Bah ! "  retorted  the  interpreter.  "  Am  I  like  a  pig 
for  sense?  The  smoking-canoe  shall  be  gone." 

The  chiefs  nodded. 

"  I  must  go,"  added  Matthews.  "  There  is  no  time  for 
the  pipe.  Remember,  if  you  are  discovered  trying  to 


A  Change  in  Plan  283 

escape,  I  know  nothing  of  it.  Then,  I  shall  try  another 
plan.  And  keep  everything  from  The  Squaw.  He  is  a 
friend  to  the  pony  soldiers.  He  may  tattle." 

"  And  your  reward,"  said  Canada  John,  softly :  "  It 
is  that  The  Plow-Woman  and  her  sister  shall  be " 

Matthews  put  a  finger  to  his  lips.  "  You  will  free  my 
land,"  he  said. 

"  When  the  night  comes?  "  whispered  Lame  Foot.  They 
pressed  about  Matthews,  taking  his  hands. 

"  When  the  night  comes,"  he  answered,  "  you  will 
know  by  a  sign.  Let  a  warrior  keep  watch.  For  it  shall 
come  when  the  moon  dies.  It  shall  be  the  call  of  a  mourn- 
ing dove." 


CHAPTER    XXIX 
LOUNSBURY'S    RETURN 

BISMARCK  nearing  at  last!  Since  dawn,  Louns- 
bury's  head  had  been  poked  from  a  window  of  the 
forward  car.  Now,  he  followed  it  with  a  wedge 
of  shoulder,  and  muttered  a  fervent  "  Thank 
God !  "  His  face  was  blackened  by  the  breath  of  the  engine, 
his  hair  was  roughed  by  the  tugging  wind.  So  that  he  bore 
not  a  trace  of  the  past  month's  careful  grooming.  Out- 
side of  Chicago,  he  had  shed  his  Eastern  garb  for  blue 
flannel  shirt,  dark  breeches,  and  tall  boots.  Again  he  was 
a  frontiersman. 

A  brakeman  entered  to  call  out  the  final  stop.  Cramped 
bulks,  here  and  there,  slowly  unwound  their  sleepy  lengths 
and  gazed  around.  A  slim  recruit  in  a  front  seat,  who  was 
outward-bound  to  fight  Indians,  wakened  with  a  protesting 
oath.  Other  occupants  of  the  car  grudgingly  put  away 
their  card  packs,  but  cheerfully  clapped  on  their  hats.  A 
long,  hot  journey  was  done. 

But  Lounsbury,  when  he  drew  in  his  head  and  shoulder, 
delayed  his  preparations  to  alight.  He  reached  down  to 
a  boot-leg  and  fished  out  a  letter,  one  paragraph  of  which 
he  carefully  re-read. 

"  As  I  say,  if  you  look  for  that  rascal,  you'll  find  the  right 
man.  He  was  here,  for  Charley  saw  him.  *  Who  was  it  ?  '  I 
asked  the  Indian.  What  do  you  think  he  did — he  crossed  his 
fingers  on  his  nose !  " 

284 


Lounsbury's  Return  285 

Lounsbur j  took  a  deep  breath.  "  It's  likely,"  he  said 
aloud.  "  It  don't  take  courage  to  kill  a  cripple." 

The  wheels  were  yet  turning  when  Lounsbury  swung  off. 
His  looped  belt  had  been  buckled  on,  and  once  more  his 
revolver  hung  handily  upon  his  thigh.  As  he  tossed  his 
satchel  to  the  ticket-agent,  he  gave  the  ".45  "  a  swift 
look  over.  Then,  with  the  expression  that  the  Clark  out- 
fit respected  showing  through  the  grime  of  the  train,  he 
started  on  a  tour  of  saloons. 

In  a  square-fronted  groggery,  his  hunt  ended.  An 
assortment  of  adventurers  packed  the  place — mule-skinners, 
soldiers,  gamblers,  settlers.  Among  them  was  a  sprinkle 
of  women.  He  pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd  until  he 
reached  the  bar.  There,  officiating  in  pink  shirt-sleeves, 
was  the  "  Babe." 

A  moment  Lounsbury  faced  him  in  silence,  his  cheeks 
puffing  and  his  chest  swelling  in  an  effort  at  self-control. 
Then,  dropping  his  hand  to  the  ".45,"  he  gave  a  jerk  of 
the  head.  "  Come  out,"  he  ordered. 

The  "  Babe's  "  squint  eyes  made  separate  inspections  of 
the  room.  He  was  in  the  act  of  pouring  from  a  bottle  to 
a  glass.  Now,  as  he  held  them  before  him,  they  tinkled 
together. 

His  customer  backed  away  to  the  door,  where  it  was 
cooler.  The  women  cluttered  at  the  farther  bar-end.  The 
other  loungers  rotated  to  a  position  behind  Lounsbury,  and 
waited,  all  a-grin. 

He  came  loafing  out,  the  sweat  standing  in  huge  beads 
upon  his  nose.  Lounsbury  advanced  to  him,  playing  a 
tattoo  along  the  bar  with  his  left  hand. 


286  The  Plow-Woman 

" '  Babe,' '  he  said  quietly,  "  the  train  goes  back 
Chicago-way  in  the  morning." 

The    other   blinked   and   gulped.  "  W'y,   w'y "   he 

began. 

"  You  take  it,"  continued  Lounsbury.  "  Your  family's 
getting  darned  unpopular  here." 

The  "  Babe's  "  diverging  orbs  popped  from  his  face 
and  again  played  from  side  to  side. 

"  Y-e-e-s,"  drawled  Lounsbury.  He  ripped  open  the 
other's  vest.  Two  pistols  were  displayed,  snuggling  head 
to  head.  He  plucked  them  out  and  kicked  them  across  the 
room.  "  The  morning  train,"  he  repeated.  "  So  long." 

"  Babe "  gave  a  weak  nod.  Lounsbury  walked  out. 
"  Howdy,  boys,  howdy,"  he  said  pleasantly  as  he  went. 
The  admiring  crowd  returned  his  salute,  and  rotated  back 
to  the  bar. 

He  wasted  no  further  time,  but  hurried  to  his  store,  a 
saddle-roofed  building  farther  along  the  street.  Before 
it  paced  a  Fort  Lincoln  officer.  Lounsbury  stopped  him  for 
news. 

"  You  ought  to  be  chuck  full  of  it,"  returned  the  officer, 
pumping  the  storekeeper's  arm ;  "  just  in  from  New  York." 

"The  redskins?" 

"  Daytime  sortie  on  us  yesterday." 

"  Pretty  sassy.  How  about  Brannon  ?  " 

"  Nothing  since  old  Lancaster ' 

"  I  heard  that — Fraser  wrote  me."  Lounsbury  gritted 
his  teeth. 

"  And  our  poor  Custer  ?  " 

"  Ah,  poor  Custer !  The  East's  talking  about  nothing 


Lounsbury's  Return  287 

"  Awful !  awful !  "  The  officer  turned  away  to  hide  the 
twitching  of  his  face. 

"  Going  to  Lincoln  now?  "  asked  Lounsbury. 

"  Not  right  away." 

"  Then,  I'm  off." 

"For  Lincoln?" 

"  No,  for  Brannon." 

"  Brannon!  Alone?  Lounsbury!  Why,  the  Indi- 
ans  " 

"  I'm  going,  just  the  same."  He  hailed  a  neighbour  to 
bargain  for  a  cayuse  of  reputed  wind  and  speed.  In  an- 
other half-hour  he  was  ready. 

He  rode  as  light  as  possible.  Behind  the  cantle,  rolled 
in  a  poncho,  he  tied  some  hardtack,  jerked  beef,  and  brandy. 
His  revolver  was  reinforced  by  a  Henry,  which  he  carried 
in  a  holster  under  his  leg.  For  the  ".45,"  he  took  fifty 
rounds.  A  second  fifty,  designed  for  the  rifle,  occupied  the 
loops  of  his  belt.  Thus  armed  and  provisioned,  he  jogged 
out  of  town. 

Good  fortune  made  the  journey  almost  uneventful.  He 
saw  but  one  Indian,  who  loped  into  sight  from  a  wooded 
bottom,  and  turned  tail  when  Lounsbury  levelled  his  gun. 
Twice  only  did  he  come  upon  signs  of  savages.  Toward 
the  middle  of  the  first  night,  he  passed  a  pile  of  glowing 
embers,  where  food  had  been  cooked  and  eaten ;  and  fifty 
miles  lower  down,  the  next  afternoon,  as  he  dismounted  at 
a  rivulet,  the  cayuse  shied  from  an  antelope  kid  that  had 
dragged  itself  to  the  water  for  a  last  drink.  There  was  an 
arrow  through  its  neck,  and  the  little  body  was  still  limber. 

Just  before  dawn,  the  second  morning,  he  turned  with 
the  river,  crossed  the  coulee,  and  reined  upon  the  yellowing 


288  The  Plow-Woman 

bend.  To  his  left,  a  black  dot,  stood  the  shack.  Three 
smaller  dots  were  near  it — Simon  and  the  mule  team. 
South,  on  the  opposite  bank,  were  the  low,  whitewashed 
buildings  of  Fort  Brannon.  He  bared  his  dust-powdered 
head  in  thanksgiving. 

The  cajuse  was  warm  and  dripping.  He  rode  to  Shanty 
Town,  loosened  the  cinch,  and  led  the  animal  up  and  down 
before  the  deserted  huts.  When  it  stopped  blowing  and 
reached  for  grass,  he  picketed  it  on  a  lariat  north  of  The 
Trooper's  Delight.  Then  he  descended  to  the  landing. 
The  light  was  growing.  Already  he  had  been  seen  from 
the  post.  On  his  hallooing,  a  small  boat  shoved  off  toward 
him,  dancing  its  way  against  the  current.  Old  Michael 
was  not  in  it,  only  his  citizen  helpers.  Fearing  their  tittle- 
tattle,  Lounsbury  curbed  his  impatience  to  ask  about  the 
shack.  Landed,  he  made  for  the  "  Bach  "  quarters  on  the 
Line. 

Fraser  was  not  up.  To  his  "  Come  in,"  Lounsbury 
entered.  They  shook  hands  without  a  word,  and  the  store- 
keeper sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed. 

After  a  while,  the  lieutenant  reached  out  to  put  a  hand 
on  the  other's  knee. 

"  Lounsbury,"  he  said,  "  I  feel  like  a  criminal.  But  I 
never  dreamed  anything  would  go  wrong  if  I  kept  track 
of  Matthews." 

"  Why,  we  both  thought  that,  Fraser.  You're  not  to 
blame  any  more  than  I  am." 

"  Oh,  if  I'd  only " 

"  But  we  can't  spend  any  ijjme  kicking  ourselves.  After 
this  there  mustn't  be  a  loophole.  Besides  watching  Mat- 
thews, we  must " 


Lounsbury's  Return  289 

"  Matthews  isn't  here." 

"What!" 

"  Kicked  out.  We  don't  know  where  he  is.'**  Hapidly, 
Fraser  related  the  story  of  Simon's  gallantry. 

There  was  another  piece  of  news  of  lesser  importance: 
An  Indian  girl  named  Brown  Mink  was  seriously  ill.  Her 
wigwam  had  been  moved  to  the  western  curve  of  the  stock- 
ade, where  the  ground  was  clear,  and  been  changed  from 
tepee-shape  to  the  form  of  a  walled  wickie-up.  Mrs.  Cum- 
mings,  touched  with  pity,  had  sent  her  a  comfortable  bed, 
while  Captain  Oliver,  touched  no  less,  and  pleased  by  the 
good-humour  of  his  prisoners,  had  ordered  that,  during 
the  daily  search  of  the  enclosure,  the  tent  of  the  sick  girl 
be  left  entirely  undisturbed. 

The  young  officer  omitted  to  tell  of  his  share  in  the 
interpreter's  departure,  and  was  distracted  over  an  accident 
that  had  befallen  him.  On  visiting  his  wild  pets  the  previous 
evening,  he  had  found  that  a  box  containing  reptiles  had 
been  broken  open,  somehow,  and  that  all  his  rattlesnakes 
were  gone! 

With  the  first  call  for  the  trumpeters,  Lounsbury  routed 
the  sutler  in  a  quest  for  breakfast.  Then,  once  more  he 
sought  the  river.  There  was  no  waiting  for  men  to  row  him. 
He  found  the  small  boat,  headed  for  the  beach  below 
Shanty  Town,  mounted  the  cayuse,  and  climbed  the  steep 
road  to  the  prairie.  Before  him,  on  a  green  stretch  be- 
tween river  and  shack,  he  saw  Dallas. 

She  was  cutting  grass  in  that  same  swale  across  which, 
a  month  before,  had  been  tracked  the  deep-planted, 
laboured  footprints.  As  she  mowed,  she  moved  forward 
slowly,  the  bent  snathe  describing  a  regular  half-circle, 


290  The  Plow-Woman 

the  long,  curved  blade  clearing  a  fragrant  path.  Her  hat 
was  off,  and  lay  at  a  distance  behind  her,  where  it  floated, 
boat-like,  on  some  blue-stem  tops.  Still  farther  behind  was 
Simon,  cropping  industriously,  and  keeping  a  furtive 
watch  upon  his  mistress  out  of  the  corner  of  one  fiery 
brown  eye. 

Lounsbury  spurred  his  horse  to  a  run.  She  saw  him 
coming,  but  not  knowing  him,  kept  her  scythe  on  the 
swing.  When  he  had  covered  the  greater  part  of  the  way, 
however,  she  stopped  work,  retreated  to  her  hat,  and  put 
it  on.  Then,  from  beside  it,  she  picked  up  the  Sharps. 

He  saw  that,  and  his  jaw  squared.  The  blood  darkened 
his  face,  too,  as  if  the  sight  shamed  him.  He  spurred  faster, 
reined  so  sharply  that  the  horse  slid  upon  its  fetlocks,  and 
swung  off. 

"  Dallas ! "  he  cried.  It  was  not  a  greeting,  but  a 
plea. 

The  moment  was  one  long  dreamed  of,  yearned  for.  A 
woman  less  genuine  might  have  met  it  without  a  show  of 
feeling.  She — outspoken  and  simple — could  not.  Her  eyes 
swam.  Dropping  the  gun,  she  clasped  his  hand  greedily. 

"  I  knew  you'd  get  back  quick  as  you  could,"  she  said, 
choking. 

For  a  long  moment  they  stood  thus,  hand-in-hand,  look- 
ing at  each  other.  She  saw  that  he  was  changed.  The 
glint  of  merriment  was  gone  from  his  eyes.  His  forehead 
bore  new  lines.  His  mouth  had  lost  its  boyishness.  With 
her,  the  past  four  weeks  had  also  left  their  mark.  The  old 
look  of  high  purpose  was  on  her  face.  But  she  was  older 
and  graver,  and  wore  the  new  expression  that  Oliver  had 
seen. 


Lounsbury's  Return  291 

She  spoke  first.  "  Your  mother?  "  she  faltered  inquir- 
ingly, and  withdrew  a  step. 

"  My  mother — is  gone,"  he  said  slowly.  Then,  after  a 
pause,  "  I  came  right  after  that ;  didn't  stop  to  settle 
things.  I  can  go  back  to  the  States  later.  But  if  I'd  been 
here  sooner — it  mightn't  'a'  happened " 

She  checked  him  gently.  "  Now,  you  got  enough  to 
worry  you  without  us.  We  wouldn't  go  to  the  Fort  or  Bis- 
marck. And  that  was  the  whole  trouble."  To  excuse  her 
father,  and  to  take  the  blame  herself,  she  told  him  of  the 
refusal  of  David  Bond's  money,  and  of  Mrs.  Cummings' 
slight. 

"  You  see,"  she  explained  earnestly,  by  way  of  putting 
the  best  possible  colour  to  the  latter  episode,  "  you  see, 
they  think  over  there  that  we're  trash.  So  they're  bound 
to  let  us  alone.  It  ain't  that  they  haven't  good  man- 
ners  " 

It  was  Lounsbury's  turn  to  interrupt.  He  was  tramp- 
ing about.  "  Manners !  "  he  said  violently ;  "  manners ! 
what's  manners  to  do  with  it?  There's  a  lot  that's  good 
manners — and  cursed  bad  heart !  " 

She  took  up  the  scythe,  brought  a  whetstone  from  the 
depths  of  a  pocket  and  ran  it  down  the  blade  thought- 
fully. 

"  I'm  going  to  look  into  this  whole  business  from  first 
to  last,"  he  went  on  more  quietly.  "  I'll  spend  the  next  few 
days  investigating.  You  got  my  letter  ?  " 

"  We  went  to  Clark's  for  you,  and  got  it  there."  She 
added  that  she  had  feared  Braden,  and  spoke  of  his  slack 
courtesy. 

"  Oh,  well,"  he  said,  partly  in  apology  for  the  real-estate 


292  The  Plow-Woman 

agent,  "  if  a  man  out  here  don't  take  off  his  hat  to  a  girl, 
that  means  nothing." 

"  It  wasn't  the  hat,"  she  answered,  and  described  Bra- 
den's  further  conduct. 

Lounsbury  blazed  up  again.  "  I'll  see  about  that, 
too,"  he  declared.  "  He  must  be  another  sample  of  im- 
ported manners." 

They  heard  the  cheery  grinding  of  a  coffee-mill.  As  if 
struck  by  a  thought,  she  looked  toward  the  shack. 

"  It's  about  time  for  me  to  go  in,"  she  said,  a  little 
flurried.  Then,  "  Won't — won't  you  come,  too,  and  take  a 
snack  with  us  ?  Marylyn  'd  like  to  see  you." 

"  Marylyn !  "  He  had  read  her  meaning.  "  Why,  Dallas, 
you  don't  meant  to  say  that  you — that  she  still " 

"  Yes,"  very  low. 

"  Well," — Lounsbury  was  determined  now, — "  there's 
got  to  be  some  kind  of  an  understanding.  I  told  you  how  I 
felt,  and  you  ran  away  from  me.  You  shan't  do  it  this 
time.  I'll  go  to  the  house,  and  I'll  tell  Marylyn  just  how 
things  are.  I  will" 

"  Oh,  my  baby  sister ! "  she  murmured. 

Instantly,  he  was  all  gentleness.  "  No — no,  I  won't  tell 
her,"  he  said.  "  But  I'm  sick  and  tired  of  being  tied  this 
way,  hand  and  foot.  It  was  your  father  first.  And  now 
this  again — Dallas !  " 

She  could  not  answer  him. 

"  I  won't  tell  her.  I'll  wait  till— till  you  do.  But,  you 
see  that  I  can't  go  to  the  house.  And  I  suppose  I  oughtn't 
to  stay  here  any  longer,  for  her  to  see.  But  I'm  coming 
back  here  to-night — at  taps." 


Lounsbury's  Return  293 

She  shook  her  head.  "  Marylyn  would  be  alone,"  she 
said  hastily.  "  So — so  I  can't." 

"  You  will,  I  know  you  will.   She'll  be  asleep." 

"  No— no " 

"  At  taps,  Dallas."  He  touched  the  hand  that  held  the 
scythe  upright.  She  thought  all  at  once  how  worn  he  was, 
and  white.  Another  moment,  he  had  mounted  and  was 
cantering  off. 

Left  alone,  she  dreaded  going  into  breakfast,  expecting 
a  hurt  silence,  or  passionate  protests,  perhaps  tears.  And 
she  tried  to  find  it  in  her  heart  to  blame  Lounsbury  for  not 
accompanying  her. 

But  Marylyn  welcomed  her  with  a  question  or  two,  ex- 
claimed sorrowfully  at  the  news  of  Lounsbury's  mother, 
and,  when  the  elder  girl  explained  that  the  storekeeper 
had  been  too  busy  to  come  to  the  shack,  returned  a  faint 
smile. 

"  The  brave  baby  !  "  thought  Dallas. 

But  Marylyn  was  puzzling  over  Lounsbury's  true  reason 
for  staying  away — now  when  their  father  was  not  there 
to  object.  He  had  told  JDallas  he  was  busy.  That,  how- 
ever, was  only  a  pretext.  Finally  she  concluded  that  Fraser, 
in  spite  of  his  promise,  had  made  a  confidant  of  the  store- 
keeper, and  that  the  latter  had  seen  the  hopelessness  of  his 
affection  for  her. 

"  I'm  glad,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  Now,  I  won't  have 
to  tell  him." 

Lounsbury  pursued  a  feverish  investigation  that  day, 
and  found  no  one  who  cared  to  quibble  with  him.  From  the 
captain,  never  jealous  of  his  dignity,  to  the  roly-poly 


294  The  Plow-Woman 

sutler,  there  was  a  very  outrush  of  facts.  As  they  came,  he 
received  them  with  pitchfork  sharpness,  examined  them 
and  tossed  them  aside,  which  led  a  wag  to  remark  that  the 
storekeeper  was  kin  to  Simon.  Yet,  when  "  retreat " 
sounded,  he  admitted  himself  hedged  in  by  indisputable 
testimony.  Lancaster's  death  was  beyond  easy  solving.  If 
Matthews  were  guilty,  he  was  not  the  principal,  only  an 
accessory,  to  the  crime.  Nevertheless,  could  the  storekeeper 
have  come  face  to  face  with  the  interpreter  that  day, 
scores  would  have  been  settled. 

To  Dallas,  laying  the  blue-stem  of  the  swale,  the  hours 
of  the  morning  went  slowly.  Yet  how  warm  and  golden 
they  seemed !  how  tuneful  the  birds !  how  cottony-white 
the  clouds  that  flecked  the  sky !  how  pleasant  the  long, 
hushing  sound  of  the  scythe !  And  all  the  while,  she  thrilled 
with  expectancy,  and  the  minutes  hung  upon  each  other,  as 
if  loath  to  pass. 

The  very  keenness  of  her  joy  brought  a  swift  revulsion. 
At  dinner,  with  Marylyn  sitting  across  from  her,  she  began 
to  see  more  clearly.  She  realised  she  had  been  dreaming; 
that  for  her  there  was  only  self-denial.  She  ate  nothing, 
but  drank  her  dipper  thirstily,  as  if  to  wash  away  a  parch 
in  her  throat.  Back  in  the  swale  again,  the  scythe  was 
swung  less  steadily,  but  with  more  strength,  so  that  its 
sharp  tip  often  hacked  up  the  ground.  She  pulled  her  hat 
over  her  eyes,  forbore  glancing  toward  the  fort — and 
fought.  A  thousand  times  she  vowed  she  would  not  meet 
Lounsbury  that  night.  To  give  herself  a  better  whip-hand, 
she  called  up  pictures  of  Marylyn — Marylyn,  the  baby, 
all  dimples  and  lisping  demands  for  "  Dais !  "  Marylyn, 
the  child,  slender,  yellow-haired,  pale;  Marylyn,  entering 


Lounsbury's  Return  295 

womanhood,  still  dependent,  and,  in  her  frailty,  her  pensive- 
ness,  more  dear  than  ever  before. 

Then,  with  the  sun  beating  upon  her,  with  her  temples 
streaming  and  throbbing  under  the  heat  and  the  strain, 
Dallas'  spirit  began  to  flag.  Had  she  not  always  borne 
a  hard  load?  suffered  discomforts?  There  were  the  women 
of  the  post — they  knew  little  toil  or  privation.  The  brunt 
of  her  mother's  loss,  her  father's  taking,  had  fallen  upon 
her.  Was  she  always  to  have  only  sorrow?  Now,  when 
happiness  came  her  way — a  happiness  that  another  might 
not  have — must  she  be  denied  it?  Disheartened,  dizzy,  she 
left  the  swale  for  the  shade  of  the  nearest  trees. 

It  was  the  hottest  part  of  the  day,  and  the  life  of  the 
prairie  seemed  at  a  standstill.  No  breeze  stirred  the  high 
cottonwoods;  the  corn  blades  were  quiet;  the  birds,  song- 
less  ;  the  frogs,  hid.  Resting  on  the  fading  green,  looking 
out  upon  the  silent  reaches,  she  grew  calm.  Then  she  re- 
membered her  sister's  confession.  Again,  in  fancy,  she 
was  leaning  down  in  the  light  of  a  winter  fire,  lookingjnto 
a  tear-stained  face.  She  felt  humiliation  for  her  own  weak- 
ness, and  for  thoughts  disloyal  to  Marylyn. 

"  When  I  see  him  again,  I'll  make  him  promise  to  come 
and  visit  her,"  she  said.  "Oh,  he  must!  he  must!"  At 
last,  renewed  in  spirit,  she  returned  bravely  to  her  work. 

But  the  afternoon  was  not  without  its  tormenting 
thoughts.  And  she,  who  feared  no  physical  danger,  quailed 
before  a  temptation  that  was  overwhelming. 

When  the  shack  pointed  a  stubby  finger  toward  the  east, 
and  the  mules,  with  Simon  in  tag,  came  trailing  home  from 
their  grazing,  Marylyn  called  her.  Near  the  door,  there 
wafted  out  the  good  smell  of  corn-pone  and  roasting  fowl. 


296  The  Plow- Woman 

She  drew  up  the  well-bucket,  hand  over  hand,  and  washed 
in  its  generous  leak. 

Within,  the  night  wind  was  changing  and  sweetening  the 
air.  As  the  younger  girl  bustled  about,  the  elder  put  on 
a  fresher  dress,  and  smoothed  and  plaited  her  hair.  Again, 
that  strange  elation!  She  was  almost  glad. 

"  Supper  !  "  sang  out  Marylyn. 

Dallas  started  consciously.  She  was  standing  at  a 
window,  holding  before  her  the  broken  bit  of  looking-glass* 


CHAPTER    XXX 
THE    TRYST 

THE  thrashers  were  singing  to  the  moon.  Out  of 
the  gaping  coulee  came  their  chorus,  loud,  rich, 
and  artfully  melodised.   It   mingled,   as   it  were, 
with   the   scent  that   the  wind   fanned   from  the 
sumach  blossoms,  yellowish-green.  Moon,  music,  perfume 
— and  lovers  were  to  meet. 

The  trysting-place  lay  in  billows  of  frosty  white,  like 
the  satin  dress  of  a  bride.  Lounsbury  measured  it  im- 
patiently, with  anxious  eyes  turned  to  the  shack.  At  the 
last  trumpet-strain  from  the  fort,  Dallas  approached  it  on 
swift  foot,  her  shadow  flitting  before. 

When  he  saw  her — a  slender  figure — he  leaped  forward, 
eager,  grateful.  She  saw  him,  and  halted,  raising  defen- 
sive hands. 

"  Dallas !  Dallas ! "  He  stretched  out  his  arms  to  her. 

"  No,  no — no,  no." 

As  well  try  to  stem  the  Missouri.  He  caught  her  close 
and  held  her.  He  pressed  his  cheek  tenderly  to  hers.  She 
yielded,  murmuring  to  him.  Thus — for  a  space  that  was 
matchlessly  sweet.  When,  without  releasing  her,  he  lifted 
his  head,  and  lifted  hers  by  a  smoothing  caress  of  her  hair. 
Then  he  searched  her  face  long  and  hungrily. 

"  Oh,  Dallas,  you  do  care,"  he  said  finally,  and  his  voice 
was  deep  with  joy. 

297 


298  The  Plow-Woman 

She  did  not  deny — only,  "  Just  makes  things  worse,"  she 
whispered  miserably. 

Gently  he  let  her  go.  "  But  I  love  you,"  he  answered. 

Her  eyes  were  grave.   They  seemed  to  blame  him. 

"  I  love  you,"  he  repeated. 

She  was  too  just  to  forget  her  own  lack  of  strength.  Her 
eyes  clouded  with  sadness,  and  brimmed.  "  I  hate  myself 
for  coming,"  she  said  fiercely. 

"  We  love  each  other.  That  isn't  a  crime,"  he  declared. 

"  For  you,  it  isn't.  But  it  is  for  me.  Because — it  '11 
hurt  Marylyn.  Oh,  you  don't  understand — I  can't  take 
her  happiness.  I  can't !  I  can't !  " 

"  It's  not  your  fault  that  I  love  you,  Dallas." 

"  What  happens  next  is." 

He  shook  his  head — smiling. 

She  raised  her  chin,  as  if  striving  to  master  herself.  "  I 
knew  all  day  that  I'd  come,"  she  said  steadily.  "  I'd  'a' 
come  if  I — died  for  it !  " 

"  Ah,  my  dearest !  "  He  put  his  hands  upon  her  shoul- 
ders, drawing  her  near  again. 

She  stepped  back  determinedly.  "  Let  me  tell  you,"  she 
begged.  "  Please,  I  knew  I'd  come.  So  I  made  up  my  mind 
I'd  do  what  was  white — ask  you  to  visit  Marylyn,  and  talk 
to  her.  If  you  would,  if  you  only  would,  why,  at  last,  you 
couldn't  help  liking  her !  " 

Again  he  smiled  at  her,  shaking  his  head.  "  I  love  you, 
not  Marylyn." 

"  You're  a  good  man,"  she  said.  "  You  wouldn't  like  to 
see  me  do  anything  that  wasn't  right  square.  You  wouldn't 
— think  much  of  me  if  I  did.  I'll  do  wrong  if — if  I  take 
you  from  her." 


The  Tryst  299 

"  I  wouldn't  have  you  do  anything  wrong,"  he  declared 
stoutly.  "  You  never  could.  But,  dear,  Marylyn  is  a  child 
yet.  She's  too  young  to  know  her  own  mind.  And  we're 
taking  her  more  seriously  than  she  takes  herself." 

"  You  don't  know  how  sick  and  down  in  the  mouth  she's 
been.  Just  before  father — went,  she  got  a  little  better. 
After  that,  for  a  while,  she  was  bad  again.  But  I  could 
see  it  wasn't  all  about  father.  There's  something  else. 
She's  changed  so — never  talks  much,  just  sits  and  looks 
and  looks —  "  She  turned  away. 

"  I'm— I'm  all  she's  got,"  she  went  on.  "  All  her  life 
I've  tended  her,  just  as  if  I  was  her  mother.  I  fed  her  and 
dressed  her.  When  she  hurt  herself,  she  came  to  me.  Now, 
she's  hurt  worse  than  she's  ever  been,  and  she's  come  to 
me  about  it.  I'm  bound  to  help  her." 

"  I  happened  to  be  the  first  man  she  got  to  know  this 
side  of  Texas.  She'd  forget  me  in  a  week  if  she  met  someone 
else.  If  she  don't  meet  someone  else,  I'm  afraid  she'll  have 
to  be  hurt." 

Dallas  straightened  proudly.  "  I'll  never  hurt  her,"  she 
said. 

"  Nor  I,  if  I  can  help  it.  She  needn't  know  about  us, 
just  yet." 

"  I  won't  lie  to  her,  either." 

"  Not  lie,  dear.  But  you  won't  refuse  to  come  out 
here " 

"I  do !  I  do !  I'll  never  come  again." 

"  Ah,  Dallas,  why  should  we  deny  ourselves  that  much? 
Why  keep  apart?  I've  lost  the  last  dear  one  I  had.  You've 
lost  your  father,  you're  alone  with  your  little  sister.  Come 
to  me." 


300  The  Plow-Woman 

"  You'd  take  me  away  ?  "  she  asked.  "  You'd  have  me 
give  up  the  claim?  To  forget  what  happened?" 

"  God  help  me — no !  I  ask  you  to  share  your  life  with 
me,  your  work,  your  revenge,  everything." 

"  Not  yet " 

"  I  can't  bear  to  see  you  and  Marylyn  staying  here 
alone.  And  I  can't  stay  near  enough  to  protect  you  as  I 
ought.  Matthews  is  sly.  If  I  meet  him,  I'll  kill  him,  as  I 
would  a  wolf.  Then,  he'll  be  out  of  the  way.  But — suppose 
he  gets  ahead  of  me?  does  you  harm?  Your  staying  here 
seems  all  the  more  terrible  to  me  since  I've  been  East.  The 
idea  of  your  having  just  Charley  to  guard,  of  your  plow- 
ing and  planting  and  cutting  hay " 

She  laughed.  "  Outside  work  is  fine,"  she  said.  "  Better 
than  cooking  over  a  hot  stove  or  breaking  your  back 
over  a  tub.  Men  have  the  best  half  of  things — the  air  and 
the  sky  and  the  horses.  I  don't  complain.  I  like  my  work. 
Let  it  make  me  like  a  man." 

"  It  couldn't.  I  don't  mean  that.  You're  the  woman- 
liest  woman  I've  ever  known." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  ever  think  different." 

"  Never  will.  And  I  don't  ask  you  to  chain  yourself 
up  in  a  house.  There's  a  big  future  in  the  cow  business. 
We'd  take  my  share  of  the  Clark  herd — you'd  ride  with 
me — -we'd  be  partners." 

"  Wait — wait."  Temptation  was  dragging  sorely  at  her 
heart.  She  glanced  homeward.  Behind  her,  the  tall  grass 
was  running  with  the  wind.  She  longed  to  run  with  it. 
Yet— 

"  I'll  wait  and  wait,"  he  said ;  "  long  as  you  ask,  if  it's 
years." 


The  Tryst  301 

She  retreated  a  few  steps.  "  I  must  go  now.  Don't  think 
I  don't  know  what  you've  done  for  us — the  sutler,  and  all 
that.  I'll  remember  it.  But  I  got  to  go — good-by." 

"  Good-night,  not  good-by,"  he  answered.  "  Can't  I 
come  this  far  and  help  you  to-morrow  with  the  hay  ?  " 

"  No,  no." 

"  Let  me  send  a  couple  of  men,  then." 

"  I'll  do  it  alone.  I'd  rather.  It's  all  in  but  this  little 
bit." 

"  But  please  go  slow.  Don't  wear  yourself  out,  Dallas." 

"  If  my  work  was  all !  "  she  said  sorrowfully. 

"  If  you  would  come  here,  now  and  then,  to  me, 
dear " 

"  I'll  never  come  again.  This  once,  I  couldn't  help  it. 
Oh,  I  tried  and  tried!  But  next  time  I  can.  I'll  think  of 
Marylyn.  Why,  I'd  give  my  life  to  make  her  happy ! " 

"  But  your  love — that  goes  where  it  pleases." 

"  You  won't  come  to  see  her  ?  " 

"  It  wouldn't  help.   But  I'll  be  here  every  night." 

She  retreated  again.   He  did  not  attempt  to  follow. 

"  Good-night,"  she  said. 

"  Good-night,  good-night." 

The  moon  was  drifting  up  the  eastern  sky,  and,  as  she 
went,  her  shadow  pursued  her.  He  watched  until  it  blended 
with  the  shadow  of  the  shack.  Then,  walked  far  to  the 
left,  and  laid  out  a  beat  that  half  circled  the  squat  building. 

"  There's  just  one  man  I  got  to  look  out  for,"  he  said 
aloud.  "  It  'd  be  different  if  I  had  to  worry  about 
Indians." 

That  moment,  across  the  river,  in  the  lodge  of  Stand- 
ing Buffalo,  the  young  chieftain  was  bending  over  an  un- 


302  The  Plow-Woman 

covered  box,  holding  in  one  hand  the  shaft  of  an  arrow, 
on  the  end  of  which  was  a  piece  of  freshly  killed  dog;  in 
the  other  hand  he  held  a  willow  wand,  sharpened.  Beneath 
him,  crawling  and  coiling  and  singing,  were  Lieutenant 
Eraser's  rattlers. 

The  Indian  kept  the  shaft  to  one  side  while  he  diligently 
prodded  the  reptiles  with  the  willow.  When  he  had  enraged 
them  so  that  they  began  to  strike  blindly  at  each  other  and 
at  themselves,  he  lowered  the  shaft  and  let  them  drive  their 
fangs  into  the  meat.  And  when  they  were  spent  with  their 
anger  and  springing,  he  covered  the  box  and  held  up  the 
flesh,  which  had  turned  from  red  to  green,  and  was  drip- 
ping dark  with  venom.  Then,  into  it,  he  began  thrusting 
the  points  of  a  quiver  of  arrows. 


CHAPTER    XXXI 
BY    THE    LIGHT    OF    A    MATCH 

A  SMUDGE  was  burning  at  the  centre  of  the  stock- 
ade. In  its  lee,  to  be  safe  from  the  swarms   of 
pestering    mosquitoes,    sat    the    hostage    braves. 
Their  pipe-smoke  blended  with  the  smoke  of  the 
fire.  Their  loud  gibberish  was  broken  only  when  shrieks  of 
laughter  followed  a  sally  of  wit.  Their  black  eyes  spark- 
led. Their  white  teeth  flashed. 

Before  them  were  their  sons,  now  romping  with  the 
favoured  dogs  of  the  pack;  now  gathering  to  watch  a 
wrestling-match  between  a  chosen  couple;  again,  lining 
the  way  while  several  raced  down  the  enclosure. 

The  squaws  and  girls  were  also  outside  the  lodges,  the 
July  night  being  hot.  They  cackled  together  to  the  wind- 
ward side  of  the  lordly  males,  and  did  not  approach  except 
to  throw  more  wet  sticks  upon  the  smoulder. 

The  outcast  watched  the  jollity  from  his  dark  comer, 
and  marvelled  at  it.  For  were  there  not  two  tragedies 
threatening,  either  of  which  should,  properly,  lay  hard 
upon  the  hearts  of  the  village? 

One  was  the  nearing  execution  of  the  four  condemned. 
Two  sleeps  ago,  on  the  arrival  of  a  runner  from  the  absent 
cavalry,  a  wood-wagon  had  hauled  several  loads  of  lumber 
to  the  site  of  the  pony  corral.  From  that  lumber — it  was 
said  openly,  and  he  had  told  it  in  sign-language  to  the 
braves,  was  to  be  built — a  scaffold! 

303 


304  The  Plow-Woman 

The  other  tragedy  hovered  in  the  illness  of  Brown  Mink. 
Since  her  lodge  had  been  placed  against  the  upper  curve 
of  the  pen,  there  had  been  much  singing,  conjuring,  danc- 
ing and  beating  of  drums.  But  to  no  purpose.  Daily,  she 
wasted.  She  was  dying ! 

He  was  not  allowed  to  see  her,  to  tend  her  fire  or  clean 
her  kettle.  When,  on  her  removal,  he  had  dared  to  stop  at 
her  tent-flap  with  a  string  of  pike,  Afraid-of-a-Fawn 
swooped  down  upon  him,  her  long  tushes  clicking  and 
frothing,  snatched  the  wall-eyes  from  his  hold  and  be- 
laboured him  with  them.  He  had  not  gone  back.  But,  in 
secret,  he  grieved  over  Brown  Mink's  suffering.  And  often 
he  petitioned  in  her  behalf,  and  lifted  his  worshipping  vine 
toward  the  Milky  Way. 

In  his  sorrow,  his  shoulders  were  bent  lower  than  ever, 
his  ebon  eyes  were  more  doglike.  Yet,  he  still  dreamed  of 
reinstatement,  for  he  saw  (though  he  could  not  understand 
it)  that  the  warriors  were  again  counting  on  escape! 

They  were  unkempt  no  longer,  but  wore  their  hair  neatly 
braided  and  well-greased.  They  ate  sparingly,  and  only 
twice  a  day.  They  almost  forswore  water.  And  by  covert 
exercise  they  trained  away  their  flesh.  Standing  Buffalo 
and  his  haughty  comrades  did  not  waddle  now  under  a 
weight  of  fat.  As  on  the  day  of  their  capture,  they  were 
lank  and  stately. 

Rejoicing  in  their  hopes,  he,  too,  had  not  been  without 
preparation.  A  rusty  knife  found  in  a  rubbish  heap  by 
the  river  had  been  polished  by  thrusting  it  repeatedly  into 
the  dirt.  In  spare  moments,  he  made  himself  a  sinew- 
backed  bpw,  and  practised  many  hours  with  it.  He  spent 
no  time  in  the  lean-to — his  guard  there  had  ceased.  The 


By  the  Light  of  a  Match  305 

necessity  for  food  did  not  take  him  to  the  shack — his  ar- 
rows brought  down  game  which  he  cooked.  At  any  time, 
with  a  sharp  stick,  he  could  root  up  his  fill  of  wild  turnips. 
He  knew  where  ripe  berries  loaded  the  bushes,  and  where 
the  plums  reddened  in  the  thickets.  And  how  could  he 
chance  staying  out  of  the  stockade  after  midnight,  when 
any  dawn  might  find  his  brothers  free? 

Thoughts  of  Brown  Mink  alone  took  his  mind  from  his 
dream.  He  yearned  to  see  her  again,  to  mark  how  far 
disease  had  ravaged,  to  show  her  that  though  all  others 
were  indifferent,  he  was  not.  And  he  had  determined  to 
tell  her  farewell — to  tell  her  that  he  would  win  back  his 
lost  rank.  For  this,  he  would  even  break  his  vow  of  silence ! 

The  end  that  he  might  gain  her  side  hinged  upon  two 
things :  His  reaching  her  wickie-up  unseen,  and  the  ab- 
sence of  the  crone.  These  he  hoped  for  now,  as  he  peered 
from  his  corner. 

Despite  the  smudge  he  could  see  whatever  went  on  in 
the  stockade,  for  the  sky  was  clear,  and  the  stars  hung 
low.  Before  long  his  patience  was  rewarded  by  a  gradual 
quieting  about  the  grouped  wigwams.  As  the  smoke 
thinned  for  lack  of  fuel,  the  mosquitoes  drove  the  braves 
to  their  beds.  The  squaws  dispersed  to  attend  them.  The 
children,  tired  with  play,  straggled  after.  The  lengthening 
night  brought  a  welcome  coolness  with  it.  So  a  sentry 
soon  roared  a  command  from  the  board  walk.  Then  the 
only  hostage  that  was  left  arose  slowly,  stretched  himself, 
and  disappeared. 

The  dwindling  pack  were  the  last  to  lie  down.  Some 
wolves  were  challenging  saucily  from  the  coulee  mouth. 
The  dogs  answered  them  in  long-drawn  wails.  Finally  the 


306  The  Plow-Woman 

wolves  took  off  up  the  river,  and  the  dogs  scratched  about 
to  find  a  moist  spot  and  nestled  down.  There  was  silence 
now,  except  when  a  cur,  dreaming  of  the  chase,  yapped 
in  his  troubled  sleep. 

Squaw  Charley  crawled  from  under  the  roof  and  along 
the  high  wall,  being  careful  to  mark  the  whereabouts  of 
the  brave  that  was  always  on  the  watch.  Above  him 
paced  the  sentries.  But  these  did  not  see  him  because  he 
kept  in  the  shadow.  Foot  by  foot  he  went,  making  toward 
Brown  Mink's  tent. 

At  last  he  was  so  near  to  it  that,  reaching  out  an  arm, 
he  could  touch  the  base  of  a  supporting  pole.  He  drew 
back  then,  and  squatted,  his  eyes  on  the  entrance.  Thus, 
upwards  of  an  hour  went  by.  The  time  passed  quickly,  for 
it  was  good  to  be  near  the  beloved! 

Crouched  within  the  shelter  of  skins  was  another  who 
waited — the  hag.  She  was  looking  down  the  stockade 
through  a  narrow  slit.  When  she  judged  that  the  sentries 
were  growing  less  vigilant,  she  stood  up.  The  outcast 
heard  the  crack  of  her  old  joints.  A  moment,  and  she 
stepped  out  stealthily  and  scanned  the  rim  of  the  pen. 
Against  the  sky,  the  figure  of  each  sentry  was  plainly  out- 
lined. None  was  near.  Softly,  she  padded  for  the  lodge 
of  Standing  Buffalo. 

The  pariah  leaped  up  now,  and  took  a  swift  step.  But 
as  his  fingers  closed  upon  the  edge  of  the  tent-flap,  a 
whispered  summons  made  him  pause  and  glance  around. 
There  was  a  whispered  reply,  followed  by  steps  as  swift  as 
his  own.  He  sank,  rolling  himself  into  a  ball.  He  was  not 
a  second  too  quick.  Afraid-of-a-Fawn  returned,  with  the 
chief  at  her  heel. 


By  the  Light  of  a  Match  307 

Again  the  outcast  waited,  and  jealously.  Those  within 
also  waited,  for  a  sentry  was  passing  just  above.  Presently 
he  was  gone,  and  Charley  leaned  forward  and  put  his  ear 
against  the  tent,  when  he  heard  the  scratch  of  a  match. 

It  did  not  light,  and  there  was  a  teasing  laugh.  The 
outcast  sat  up  like  a  startled  gopher,  one  hand  to  his 
breast,  one  out  before  him.  Again,  a  scratch.  A  tiny  flame 
flickered.  Too  amazed  for  fear,  Charley  put  his  eye  to  the 
slit. 

Both  hands  came  up  to  drive  back  a  cry.  At  the  rear  of 
the  wickie-up,  the  skins  were  pulled  aside  to  reveal  the 
stockade  wall.  Of  this  two  logs  showed — hollowed  out  so 
completely  at  the  base  that  they  were  mere  shells ! 

Before  these  logs,  all  kneeling,  were  the  hag,  Standing 
Buffalo  and  Brown  Mink.  The  chief  held  the  match;  the 
old  woman,  a  knife;  the  girl  was  empty-handed.  But  she 
was  not  ill — not  wasted — not  dying !  She  was  full-figured. 
Her  face  was  round.  Her  cheeks  and  lips  were  as  bright 
as  the  dab  of  paint  at  the  part  in  her  hair — as  crimson 
with  health  as  a  gorgeous  cactus-flower! 

The  match  went  out.  Squaw  Charley  dropped  back  to 
the  wall's  shadow.  His  heart  was  pounding  madly  with  a 
twofold  joy:  The  hacked  logs  assured  freedom  for  his 
brothers,  for  himself,  fighting  and  rank.  And  she  was  still 
to  be  won ! 

"  The  work  is  over,"  said  a  man's  voice. 

"  And  when  comes  the  call  of  a  dove?  "  asked  a  maid's. 

"  Perhaps  when  the  moon  dies." 

"  Who  can  tell?  "  It  was  the  growl  of  the  crone.  "  The 
Double-Tongue  has  run  to  hole  like  a  fox." 

Once  more  there  was  silence.  A  sentry,  as  he  neared,  was 


308  The  Plow-Woman 

humming  an  unconscious  warning.  When  he  was  gone 
again,  there  was  more  talk.  But  it  was  low-toned,  and 
Charley  could  not  hear.  He  did  not  wait  longer.  Slipping 
away  a  rod,  he  dropped  on  all  fours. 

When  Standing  Buffalo  emerged  and  looked  to  see  if  he 
might  safely  return,  he  observed  that  in  the  enclosure 
nothing  moved  but  a  dog,  which  was  going  toward  the 
shingle  roof.  So,  composedly  drawing  his  sheet  of  cow's 
hide  about  him,  he  strode  to  his  lodge. 

Until  daybreak,  two  Indians  did  not  join  the  others  in 
their  rest.  The  one  sat  harking  for  the  call  of  a  mourn- 
ing-dove. The  other  sat  cross-legged  beside  the  smudge; 
and  as  a  splinter  new  and  then  revived  the  fire,  he  wafted 
prayers  of  thanksgiving  to  the  Great  Spirit  on  its  upward- 
rising  smoke. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 
THE    EVE    OF    OTHER    THINGS 

rE  wide  valley  was  brown,   with  green  splots  and 
tracings    for    slough    and    stream.    The    distant 
ranges  were  grey.  The  sky  showed  the  misty  blue 
of  the  dog-days.  Far  off  to  the  north  and  west, 
black  streaks  edged  the  horizon,  where  smoke  rolled  up 
from  prairie-fires. 

Brannon  was  quiet  to  the  point  of  lethargy.  Guard  was 
mounted,  and  daily  dress-parade  held  ceremoniously.  The 
trumpet  blew  its  unvarying  round  of  commands.  There 
was  no  hunting,  and  no  field  duty  beyond  the  scouting  of 
the  eastern  shore.  The  hoarse  salute  of  an  upward-plying 
steamer  roused  the  garrison  to  life  one  morning.  But  the 
interruption  lasted  barely  half  an  hour.  Then  the  steamer, 
her  pilot-house  screened  by  sheet  iron,  and  her  decks 
aswarm  with  infantry,  rounded  a  bend  in  the  river  and 
went  coughing  away  out  of  sight.  Once  again,  interest 
centred  at  the  site  of  the  pony  corral,  where  a  platform 
was  slowly  building. 

Life  at  the  shack  was  even  less  eventful.  For  Dallas,  it 
was  a  season  of  idleness.  The  pumpkins  and  the  melons 
were  swelling;  the  tasselled  corn  wanted  weeks  before  it 
would  ripen ;  the  field  and  garden  were  free  of  weeds.  With 
no  work  to  do,  alone  except  for  her  sister,  the  elder  girl 
had  ample  time  to  worry. 


310  The  Plow-Woman 

Marylyn  saw  that  she  was  dispirited,  and  increased  in 
tenderness  toward  her,  following  her  about  with  eyes  that 
entreated,  yet  were  not  sad.  At  breakfast  she  spitted  the 
choicest  cuts  for  Dallas.  In  the  noon  heat,  she  was  at  her 
elbow  with  a  dipper  of  ginger-beer.  And  supper  coaxed 
the  elder  girl's  failing  appetite  by  offerings  of  tasty  stew, 
white  flour  dumplings  and  pone.  As  for  herself,  Marylyn 
needed  neither  urging  nor  tidbits.  She  ate  heartily.  Her 
sleep  was  a  rest  for  both  body  and  mind.  Every  afternoon 
she  strolled  across  the  bend  to  the  cottonwoods.  The  but- 
terflies fared  beside  her.  Overhead,  between  sun  and  earth, 
hung  legions  of  grasshoppers,  like  a  haze.  Underfoot, 
bluebell  and  sunflower  nodded.  And  the  grove  was  a  place 
for  dreams ! 

And  Dallas — was  a  wild  thing  that  cannot  tell  of  its 
wound. 

She  uttered  no  complaint,  even  to  Simon.  The  outburst 
that  followed  Lounsbury's  return  was  her  first  and  last. 
She  questioned  now  if  her  suffering  justified  a  lament.  In 
this,  she  resembled  her  mother.  A  woman,  coming  to  the 
section-house  one  torrid  day,  remarked  wonderingly  that 
Mrs.  Lancaster  gave  "  nary  a  whimper."  The  latter  looked 
up  with  a  smile.  "  I  don't  think  I'm  sick  enough,"  she  said. 
"  Other  people,  worse  off,  have  a  right  to  groan."  Dallas, 
certain  that  Marylyn's  heartache  was  the  keener,  would  not 
be  behindhand  in  restraint.  And  her  sister's  happiness, 
forethought,  and  desire  to  please,  all  drove  the  thrust  of 
penitence  to  the  hilt,  and  turned  the  knife  in  that  secret 
wound. 

She  found  no  solace  in  Marylyn's  friends  of  the  calico 
covers.  Her  thoughts  were  too  tempestuous  for  that.  They 


The  Eve  of  Other  Things  311 

were  like  milling  cattle.  Around  and  around  they  tore, 
mingling  and  warring,  but  stilling  in  the  end  to  follow  the 
only  course — self-denial.  Once  so  rebellious,  she  was  grow- 
ing meek  at  last — meek  and  full  of  contrition.  She  was 
coming  to  dwell  more  too,  on  the  lessons  that  the  evangel- 
ist had  taught  her:  She  was  coming  to  think  of  leaning 
where  David  Bond  had  leaned — she,  who  had  always  been 
a  prop. 

There  was  the  old  terror  that  had  stalked  beside  her 
down  to  her  mother's  death.  She  had  fought  her  way  with 
it,  and  the  conflict  had  given  her  strength.  There  was  the 
jealousy  that  had  smirched  her  sister-love.  She  had  fought 
it,  too,  and  bitterly,  scorning  it  because  she  knew  it  for  a 
hateful  inheritance.  Now  was  come  a  third  misery,  and  the 
worst.  She  saw  herself  as  a  traitor.  This  was  not  mere  re- 
proach. It  was  the  torture  of  a  stricken  conscience. 

Her  face  grew  thin,  her  hand  unsteady,  her  eyes  wore 
a  hunted  look.  At  night,  hers  were  the  scalding  tears  that 
dampened  the  pillow. 

And  so  the  days  went  by.  Whatever  pangs  of  remorse, 
whatever  longing  she  endured,  she  remained  faithful  to 
the  resolution  that  she  would  not  give  way  to  temptation 
again.  But  every  night  brought  the  lonely  watcher  to  the 
swale. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 
THE    END    OF    A    DREAM 

THE  dark  of  the  moon  was  come. 
All  that  day  the  sun  had  baked,  and  the  steady 
south  blow  had  been  like  the  draught  of  an  oven. 
As  evening  came,  brushing  a  glory  of  red  from 
the  sky,  the  wind  quickened,  instead  of  lulling,  and  fetched 
up  clouds  that  rested  on  the  ridge-tops  and  roofed  the  wide 
valley.  Through  these  not  a  star  showed.   But  now  and 
then,  for  an  instant,  the  post  sprang  into  sight  out  of 
the  blackness  to  the  weird  play  of  the  heat-lightning. 

In  the  stockade  there  was  perfect  quiet — a  quiet  tense 
with  excitement.  Secrecy  forbade  any  strong-heart  songs 
and  dances.  Caution  advised  against  mosquito  fires.  And 
suspense  did  away  with  drumming,  shrill  laughter,  and 
feast-shout.  The  aged  men,  the  women,  and  the  children 
kept  close  within  their  lodges,  where  they  whispered  and 
nodded,  nose  to  nose.  The  warriors  stayed  outside,  pre- 
serving their  calm  with  kinnikinick.  In  the  dark,  the  open 
bowls  of  their  scattered  pipes  were  so  many  ruddy  glow- 
worms. 

From  the  pitchy  shelter  of  the  shingle  roof,  Squaw 
Charley  looked  out.  He  sat  on  his  heels,  about  him  the 
few  mangy  dogs  that  had  not  found  the  dinner-pot.  One 
of  these  stirred.  Half  rising,  he  gave  it  a  kick,  just  as 
one  of  his  brothers  might  have  done.  Then  he  squatted 

312 


The  End  of  a  Dream  313 

again,  and  through  the  ragged  strands  of  his  bang,  his 
black  eyes  sparkled  eagerly.  For,  of  late,  every  warrior's 
lodge  had  seen  secret  flesh-painting ;  under  every  war- 
rior's blanket  were  hidden  gaudy  tracings  of  vermilion, 
scarlet,  orange,  and  blue ;  and  was  he  not  painted,  too ! 

He  had  sought  in  an  ash-pile  for  coals ;  found  a  beef 
bone  and  snapped  it  for  marrow;  next,  taken  from  his 
worn  pouch  a  lump  of  red  earth.  He  had  rubbed  the  coals 
to  powder  in  a  square  of  rag,  after  which  he  had  mixed  the 
powder  and  the  grease  to  make  a  paste.  Then,  he  had 
pulled  off  his  mourning  blanket  and  his  squaw's  shirt,  and 
bared  his  body  to  the  waist. 

Vermilion,  orange,  scarlet,  and  blue — these  colours  had 
been  laid  in  stripes,  circles,  and  figures  upon  the  braves. 
They  were  colours  that  he,  an  outcast,  might  not  use. 
But  there  was  one  poor  privilege  in  flesh-painting  that  even 
he  could  claim.  Kneeling  again  in  clout  and  squaw's  skirt, 
he  had  smeared  the  black  and  red  in  rude  signs  upon  his 
chest.  The  braves,  his  brothers,  had  painted  themselves 
for  battle.  But  he,  the  pariah,  had  painted  himself  in  the 
colours  of  death. 

Suddenly  he  forsook  the  roof  for  the  shadow  of  the 
log  wall.  There  he  waited.  Two  warriors  had  left  the  lodge 
of  Brown  Mink  and  were  crossing  the  pen.  He  knew  them. 
The  shorter  was  Canada  John,  the  eldest  of  the  four  con- 
demned. The  other  was  a  Sioux  who  had  been  captured 
that  day  and  cast  into  prison  at  sunset.  He  was  a  giant 
in  stature,  wore  full  war  paint  and  dress,  and  a  belt  that 
testified  his  valour.  For  it  hung  thick  with  scalps,  some 
jetty  and  coarse, — taken  from  heads  of  his  own  kind, — some 
brown  or  fair,  with  the  softness  that  belongs  to  the  hair 


314  The  Plow-Woman 

of  white  women  and  little  children.  The  two  were  talking 
low  together.  Presently,  as  they  strolled  near,  the  outcast 
heard  the  deep  murmur  of  their  voices;  then  their  words. 
He  leaned  toward  them,  all  ears. 

"  How  many  sleeps  before  the  dove  calls?  "  It  was  the 
bass  of  the  stranger. 

"  Perhaps  only  another,"  answered  Canada  John. 

There  was  a  great  laugh,  like  the  cry  of  a  full-fed  loon. 
"  Surely  Big  Ox  stays  not  long !  But  how  can  my 
friends  be  sure  that  The  Double-Tongue  will  have  horses 
ready  ?  " 

"  He  claims  a  reward." 

"Ho!  Ho  land  what?" 

Canada  John  halted  close  to  Squaw  Charley.  "  There  is 
a  cottonwood  lodge  beyond  the  river,"  he  said.  "  It  should 
belong  to  The  Double-Tongue.  He  is  kept  out.  An  old 
pale-face  and  his  two  daughters  seized  it  in  the  Moon  of 
Wild  Cherries,  and  they  would  not  go." 

"An  old  man,  you  say?  " 

"  But  he  hunts  the  white  buffalo.  Only  the  daughters 
are  there." 

"  Are  they  young?  " 

"  Young  and  sleek.  One  is  called  The  Plow-Woman. 
She  is  tall,  and  she  watches  like  the  antelope.  The  younger 
has  hair  like  the  grass  when  it  is  withered." 

"They  live  alone?" 

"  The  Squaw  guards " 

"Wuff!" 

"  And  The  Man-who-buys-Skins.  May  he  be  struck  by 
the  zigzag  fire !  " 

"  Who  is  to  have  the  women  ?  " 


The  End  of  a  Dream  315 

Canada  John  scratched  his  nose.  "  The  Medicine-Giver 
says,  '  He  that  first  reaches  them.'  ' 

Bix  Ox  shook  his  head  in  doubt.  "  The  swiftest  may  yet 
fail  to  keep." 

"  Should  any  pursue,  the  women  will  be  killed.  The 
soldiers  will  think  them  bit  by  rattlesnakes." 

Again  Big  Ox  burst  forth  with  laughter. 

"Sh!" 

A  hammer  clicked  from  the  stockade  top.  A  sentry  began 
to  bawl  angrily. 

"  Git,  you  pup-eaters,"  he  ordered,  and  slanted  his  gun 
to  them.  Casting  dignity  aside,  they  ducked  into  the  near- 
est lodge, 

Squaw  Charley  dragged  himself  back  to  the  shingle  roof. 
There  he  fell  prone,  resting  his  forehead  against  the  ribs 
of  a  dog.  The  strength  was  gone  from  his  body,  the  light 
from  his  eyes.  The  wind  of  that  other's  nostrils  had  blasted 
him.  He  was  like  the  scattering  ash-heaps  of  the  evening 
smudges,  where  the  last  bit  of  fuel  was  crumbled,  and  the 
last  red  coal  was  dead. 

Long,  he  stayed  upon  his  face.  When  the  first  numbness 
was  past,  and  his  brain  was  rallying  slowly,  a  very  scourge 
of  sorrow  visited  him — sorrow  for  the  fate  of  the  shack, 
where  he  had  warmed  himself  so  often,  relieved  his  hunger, 
and  known  a  kindly  smile.  With  sorrow  came  remorse.  He 
had  not  done  his  part  for  the  little  home.  He  had  not 
guarded  as  he  ought.  And  he  had  helped  by  bringing  rat- 
tlesnakes— which  he  had  been  told  were  to  be  used  for 
medicine — in  the  plot  for  its  destruction.  When  sorrow 
and  remorse  had  their  turn,  a  stronger  passion  gnawed 
and  racked  him.  It  was  the  yearning  for  reinstatement. 


316  The  Plow-Woman 

Dwelling  upon  this,  he  became  two  Indians,  and  one  of 
him  opposed  the  other.  They  travelled  separate  trails — 
trails  that  bent  different  ways,  like  the  horns  of  a  buffalo. 
The  trail  to  the  right  was  a  war-path.  It  led  him  behind 
his  brothers,  through  the  hole  in  the  stockade.  For  a  while 
he  loitered,  loath  to  share  in  the  work  on  the  Bend.  After- 
ward, he  joined  them.  They  were  free,  and  crazy  with 
their  freedom.  He  matched  his  strength  with  theirs ;  dared 
where  they  faltered ;  won — won 

But  there  was  no  hope  for  The  Plow- Woman! 

He  was  back  on  the  other  trail,  and  it  led  to  the  gallery 
where  Oliver's  hammock  swung.  The  outcast  made  swift 
motions  with  his  hands.  He  was  hustled  along  with  the 
guard.  The  sliding-panel  opened.  The  tent-flaps  of  Brown 
Mink's  lodge  were  lifted.  He  was  caught  in  a  mad  onrush ; 
he  was  howled  at;  spat  upon.  Finally,  a  bruised,  exiled 
traitor,  more  despised,  if  possible,  than  before,  he  fled 
skulking  away. 

And  here  was  no  hope  for  his  honour ! 

He  was  back  at  the  parting  of  the  trails,  one  man  again, 
helpless  before  the  knowledge  that  safety  for  the  shack 
meant  the  wiping  out  forever  of  his  dream  of  becoming  a 
brave. 

When  the  pack  deserted  him,  his  forehead  thumped  the 
ground.  Lame  Foot's  woman  threw  him  a  bone,  hitting 
him  fairly  on  the  shoulder.  The  blow  went  unheeded,  and 
he  gave  no  thought  to  the  pickings.  The  dogs,  returning, 
fought  over  him.  He  only  clawed  the  earth  in  an  effort  to 
lie  flat.  The  bone  yielded  to  the  strongest  and  fiercest,  the 
other  curs  leaped  about  him,  licking  at  his  hair.  Now  he 
did  not  kick  them. 


The  End  of  a  Dream  317 

Of  a  sudden,  he  remembered  David  Bond.  He  got  feebly 
to  his  knees,  covering  his  face  from  the  dogs.  The  evan- 
gelist had  laid  a  charge  upon  him :  No  matter  what  came, 
he  was  to  think  first  of  the  shack.  He  had  accepted  it  before 
he  knew  it  would  clash  with  his  own  purpose.  Was  he  held 
to  the  promise  now  ?  David  Bond  was  dead.  If  he  were  not 
obeyed,  he  could  never  come  back  to  punish. 

But  he  had  said  to  give  up  all — even  life.  He  had  given 
his  own  life  for  the  stolen  white  women.  What  he  preached 
he  had  followed.  "  Greater  love,"  he  had  said,  "  hath  no 
man  than  this,  that  a  man  lay  down  his  life  for  his  friends." 

It  was  a  queer  saying.  If  a  brave  went  down  when  a 
tribe  met  another  in  battle,  then  a  friend  of  the  dead  took 
a  life  for  that  life.  To  give  a  life — it  was  different,  and 
foolish !  Was  it  not  even  cowardly  for  one  to  expect  another 
to  die  for  him?  And  yet 

He  found  himself  upon  his  feet,  listening.  Across  the 
stockade  he  saw  the  ruddy  glow-worms  of  the  the  scat- 
tered pipes  dancing  in  the  dark.  But  a  moment  later,  when 
blinding  flashes  lit  up  the  huge  pen,  the  hostages  were 
sitting  as  before,  their  faces  lowered  moodily. 

Still  he  listened.  And  it  came  again,  from  the  direction 
of  the  river — the  long,  sad,  cooing  call  of  a  dove. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV 
FIRE    AND    ESCAPE 

WITH  the  third  mourning  of  the  dove,  a  figure 
left  the  lodge  of  Canada  John  and  shuffled 
to  the  sliding-panel,  where  it  knocked.  In 
tardy  answer,  the  wicket  was  pushed  aside 
a  little  and  a  lantern  was  held  up. 

"  Hey,  Charley ! "  said  a  friendly  voice.  A  white  face 
peered  into  a  red  one,  noting  the  uneven  bang  and  the 
handkerchief  tied  over  the  head  like  a  squaw's. 

The  Indian  blinked  at  the  light  and  showed  his  teeth  in 
a  grin. 

Cursing,  though  not  unkindly,  the  guard  pushed  the 
wicket  wide.  "  Don't  y'  come  botherin'  me  any  more 
t'-night,"  he  counselled,  as  a  black  blanket  and  a  ragged 
skirt  wriggled  through. 

The  Indian  grinned  again,  and  did  not  seek  to  elude  the 
lantern.  Released,  he  shuffled  away,  going  straight  for  the 
post.  But  the  stockade  left  a  few  rods  to  the  rear,  he 
changed  his  course,  and  made  toward  the  river.  Close  to 
its  edge,  he  halted,  and  mocked  the  signal. 

The  call  was  repeated  softly.  Then  call  and  echo  neared 
by  degrees,  until  the  Indian  and  the  interpreter  were 
touching  hands. 

There  was  no  need  for  words.  The  night's  work  was 
planned.  They  started  cautiously  upstream.  Before  long 

318 


Fire  and  Escape  319 

they  were  behind  the  stables,  ready  for  the  second  step. 
It  was  one  that  devolved  upon  Matthews.  For  it  he  carried 
a  long  knife,  single-edged,  keen,  and  slightly  curved,  like 
a  sabre. 

First  he  tiptoed  to  the  near-by  repair-shop,  where  the 
stable-guard  and  two  herders  were  gathered  about  a 
lantern,  relieving  their  irksome  hours  with  cheese,  hard- 
tack, and  various  tall  bottles  that  had  once  adorned  the 
shelves  of  The  Trooper's  Delight.  Unseen,  the  interpreter 
looked  in  upon  the  group. 

Tied  in  twos  outside  the  long  barn  were  six  horses,  the 
mounts  of  the  guard.  Each  of  the  animals  was  bridled 
and  saddled.  Matthews  went  from  pair  to  pair  of  the 
horses,  stealing  along  carefully.  When  he  was  done  with 
the  six,  he  disappeared  inside.  Down  the  rows  of  stalls 
his  work  was  surer  and  more  swift.  What  noise  he  made 
was  drowned  by  the  rush  of  the  river. 

Now  Indian  and  white  ally  continued  upstream.  Beyond 
the  northern  sentry-line,  and  beyond  the  sod  huts  of  the 
scouts,  they  spied  the  first  sign  of  the  horse-herd  they 
sought — a  herd  composed  of  the  sutler's  spike-team,  a 
four-in-hand  used  on  the  wood-wagon,  Lieutenant  Fraser's 
"  Buckskin,"  and  a  dozen  or  fifteen  second-choice  mounts 
belonging  to  absent  officers.  That  sign  was  a  spark  on 
the  ground  a  long  way  ahead.  They  knew  it  for  the 
lantern  of  the  remaining  herder. 

Matthews  turned  aside  toward  the  landing.  "  We  meet 
here,"  he  whispered. 

The  Indian  grunted  an  assent,  and  made  off  in  the 
direction  of  the  distant  spark. 

When  he  came  back,  some  time  had  passed.  A  flash  of 


320  The  Plow-Woman 

lightning  disclosed  him  to  Matthews,  who  saw  that  the 
other  was  wiping  at  his  face  with  his  skirt. 

"  How  did  it  go,  Canada  John  ?  "  asked  the  interpreter. 

Canada  John  laughed.  "  The  herder  was  glad  to  see 
The  Squaw,"  he  answered.  "  But  he  fought  like  a  badger." 

"  Here  is  the  small  boat.  When  you  have  finished  on  this 
side,  remember  The  Man-who-buys-Skins  is  on  the  other. 
He  will  be  glad  to  see  The  Squaw,  too." 

"Have  you  the  oil?" 

"  Yes."  The  interpreter  felt  for  the  other's  hand  and 
gave  him  a  can.  They  parted  for  the  second  time. 

Canada  John  now  started  for  the  post.  As  he  went,  he 
pulled  dry  grass  until  his  arms  were  full.  Arrived  beside 
the  barracks,  he  began  to  pile  the  grass  against  the  pine 
wall. 

In  the  blackness,  Brannon  lay  peaceful.  From  the 
Line  tinkled  the  soft  notes  of  a  guitar.  The  bray  of  a 
commissary  mule  answered  a  mule-bray  from  the  bend. 
The  sentries  were  announcing  their  cheery  "  All's  well  1 " 

The  interpreter  had  reached  the  herd,  where  he  was 
taking  the  rope  hobbles  from  the  forelegs  of  several  horses. 
This  done,  he  climbed  into  a  herder's  saddle  and  headed  the 
band  slowly  up  the  bottom-land.  Nearly  all  the  animals 
had  seen  long  service,  so  they  went  tamely  enough.  Where 
the  road  along  the  bank  turned  west  to  cross  the  bluffs 
through  a  break,  they  took  it,  and  were  soon  over  the  ridge 
and  out  upon  the  prairie.  There  Matthews  started  them 
south.  Finally,  a  mile  or  more  below  the  line  of  the  stock- 
ade, he  completed  his  wide  detour  by  driving  them  due 
east.  Beside  the  Missouri,  he  rounded  them  up  and  brought 
them  to  a  stand. 


Fire  and  Escape  321 

He  tied  the  horse  he  had  ridden  to  some  willows.  Next, 
having  unwound  several  rope-lengths  from  about  his  waist, 
he  began  to  catch  and  tie  others  of  the  bunch.  He  had 
rope  for  only  ten.  The  hobbles  fastened  three  more.  The 
remaining  horses  were  gentle — all  but  the  one  belonging  to 
Fraser.  Wily  and  uncertain  of  temper,  nervous  because 
of  the  lightning,  the  dun-colored  cayuse  would  not  let 
Matthews  secure  her.  Each  time  waiting  until  the  coaxing 
voice  was  close  and  the  outstretched  hand  almost  touched, 
"  Buckskin  "  whirled  with  a  flirt  of  her  heels  and  a  toss  of 
her  head  and  capered  off.  Matthews,  swearing  in  Eng- 
lish and  Uncapapa,  tried  every  device  he  knew,  and 
failed. 

He  dared  not  waste  another  minute.  Quickly,  he  wound 
some  grass  into  a  twist,  lit  it  and  waved  it  back  and  forth 
above  his  head  three  times.  After  which,  as  a  precaution, 
he  took  a  flask  from  his  hind-pocket  and,  going  from  horse 
to  horse  of  the  string,  to  the  hobbled  three,  and  to  the  half- 
dozen  that  were  standing  loose,  rubbed  their  muzzles  with 
the  liquor.  But  again  he  was  unable  to  touch  the  "  She- 
devil."  In  a  fury,  he  threw  the  empty  flask  at  her. 

From  his  hiding-place  beside  the  barracks,  the  Indian 
in  squaw's  dress  saw  the  signal-torch  of  the  interpreter. 
At  once,  he  sneaked  from  side  to  side  to  listen.  Then  he 
took  a  wisp  of  grass,  bound  round  it  a  strip  of  oily  cloth 
and,  kneeling  beside  the  bundle  farthest  from  the  river, 
set  a  match  to  it.  Instantly  flames  leaped  up.  He  ran  to 
other  grass-piles,  lighting  them  one  by  one. 

The  next  moment,  an  amazed  sentry,  who  was  pacing  his 
beat  by  the  scouts'  huts,  saw  the  growing  bonfires  and 
called  out  in  alarm  to  another.  Before  the  latter  could 


322  The  Plow-Woman 

reply  the  end  of  the  barracks  was  burning.  Both  sentries 
fired  their  guns.  The  sergeant  of  the  guard  answered  with 
revolver  shots.  The  Gatlings  spoke  from  the  lookouts.  A 
trumpet  shrilled  the  fire-alarm.  From  the  sutler's  sounded 
the  clang  of  the  mess-gong. 

In  the  midst  of  the  tumult,  one  spot — the  stockade — 
kept  strangely  quiet.  Its  guards  were  collected  at  the 
sliding-panel,  from  where,  not  daring  to  leave,  they  watched 
the  growing  blaze.  So  intent  were  they  upon  the  sight 
that  they  took  no  heed  of  their  prisoners.  Therefore,  no 
one  knew  or  hindered  when  the  Indian  braves,  led  by  Stand- 
ing Buffalo,  and  noiseless  as  shadows,  filed  into  Brown 
Mink's  wickie-up,  crawled  through  the  breach  in  the  log 
wall,  and  sped  away  into  the  shielding  dark. 

Behind,  the  squaws  and  children  were  gathered,  with  the 
Indian  girl  walking  boldly  among  them.  Of  a  sudden  they 
parted.  From  under  the  shingle  roof  there  was  a  sound 
of  struggling — a  thump,  as  a  body  hit  the  ground — an  old 
woman's  squeal  of  rage.  Then,  into  the  faint  glare  re- 
flected from  the  fire,  came  a  stooping  figure  in  squaw's 
dress,  that  sped  through  the  scattering  crowd,  shot  into 
Brown  Mink's  tent — and  was  gone. 

Across  the  prairie,  Matthews  was  following  after  the 
flighty  cayuse;  not  trying  to  catch  her,  only  striving  to 
get  her  out  of  the  way.  "  Buckskin  "  was  wilful,  however, 
and  as  often  as  the  angry  interpreter  drove  her  off,  came 
circling  saucily  back — to  halt  in  the  path  of  the  coming 
braves.  The  string  by  the  willows,  the  hobbled  horses  and 
the  gentle  free  ones,  were  frightened  by  her  into  stamping 
about.  But  the  whisky  biting  their  noses  killed  the  hated 
scent  that  was  nearing.  Not  so  with  the  cayuse.  She 


Fire  and  Escape  323 

caught  it.  For  a  moment  she  waited,  head  high,  ears 
a-quiver,  nostrils  spread.  Matthews  warned  the  Indians. 
They  did  not  hear.  As  they  raced  on,  the  mare  gave  a 
snort  of  terror,  wheeled,  and  launched  herself  full  against 
the  end  animal  of  the  string. 

The  tethered  horses  set  back  upon  their  ropes,  trampling 
each  other  and  pulling  themselves  free.  The  gentle  ones, 
thoroughly  scared,  went  flinging  away  with  them.  While 
the  hobbled,  with  no  cow-pony  respect  for  rope,  made  up 
a  mad,  plunging  rear. 

Consternation  seized  the  Sioux.  They  were  without 
boats,  without  weapons,  without  horses.  They  cursed. 
They  threatened  Matthews. 

"  Cross !  cross !  "  he  cried.  "  Your  bows  are  in  my  wood 
lodge.  The  soldiers  have  no  horses,  and  no  boats.  They 
cannot  swim  the  river.  You  will  be  safe." 

There  was  no  other  way. 

"  Wind-swift,  my  brothers,"  bade  Lame  Foot. 

The  Indians  rushed  back  to  where  hammers  had  been 
ringing  for  days  past.  They  tore  away  boards  of  the 
scaffold.  Then,  returning  to  the  river,  they  dropped  in. 

Matthews  called  after  them.  "  Remember  your  promise," 
he  said ;  "  and  do  not  drink  the  water-that-burns  in  my 
lodge." 

There  was  no  answer. 

And  now  the  interpreter  took  thought  for  himself.  At 
sundown  he  had  lusted  for  the  night's  doing.  But  the  heart 
was  gone  out  of  him.  Even  before  the  stampede,  the  whole 
affair  had  assumed  monster  proportions.  He  had  begun 
to  think  of  the  murdered,  and  of  the  maiming,  and  had 
wished  himself  well  out  of  it.  Now,  with  no  horse  to  carry 


324  The  Plow-Woman 

him  across  to  safety,  there  seemed  to  face  him  only  dis- 
covery and  punishment. 

"  Well,  they  drove  me  to  it,"  he  complained.  "  This 
wouldn't  'a'  happened  if  they'd  give  me  a  square  deal." 
He  was  wrenching  with  all  his  might  at  a  section  of  the 
scaffold  platform.  "  I  wanted  to  be  decent,  and  they 
treated  me  like  a  dog." 

With  this,  he  ran  down  the  river  bank  and  launched 
his  frail  raft.  "  Anyhow,"  he  said,  "  I'll  git  out  o'  this 
jus'  as  fast  as  water  '11  take  me!  " 


CHAPTER    XXXV 

THE    LAST    WARNING 

THROWN    down    by    a    sounding-board    of    inky 
clouds,  the  alarm  shots  at  Brannon,  the  shouting, 
the  reports  of  the  Gatlings,  and  the  trumpet-calls 
fell    sharp    and    clear   upon    the   shack.    Dallas, 
watching  into  the  blackness  from  her  bench  by  the  door, 
was  up  and  armed  on  the  instant,  and  leaning  far  over 
the  sill,  as  if  to  see  the  better  through  the  dark.   Soon 
she  made  out  something — a  glimmer — that,  in  the  begin- 
ning, was  redder  than  the  flare  of  the  lightning,  fainter, 
and  more  fixed ;  but  which,  growing  as  the  din  grew,  swiftly 
deepened  in  colour,  spread  wide,  and  rose,  throwing  into 
relief  the  intervening  grove  of  cottonwoods,  and  the  form 
of  a  man  who  was  racing  riverward  from  the  swale.  He 
disappeared,  swelling  the  distant  clamour  with  a  cry — a 
dread  cry  she  had  never  heard  before — of  "  Fire !  " 

She  shut  the  door  behind  her  and  waited  a  moment.  She 
was  no  longer  merely  watchful.  She  was  uncertain  and 
troubled. 

Presently  she  went  in  and  bent  over  Marylyn,  touching 
her  gently,  and  speaking  low  to  save  her  a  fright.  "  Honey, 
dear,  honey.  Hop  up  and  see  what's  happ'ning  at  the 
Fort." 

The  younger  girl  scrambled  to  her  feet,  putting  out 
nervous  hands  to  her  sister.  Dallas  quieted  her.  And  they 
stood  together  in  the  door. 

325 


326  The  Plow-Woman 

And,  now,  across  the  Missouri,  the  guns  and  trumpets 
suddenly  stilled,  and  the  shouting  lessened.  While  the  glow 
rapidly  thickened  into  a  roaring  press  of  flame,  before 
which  darted  the  troopers,  like  flies  in  the  light  of  a 
lamp. 

"  My !  my !  "  whispered  Marylyn,  her  voice  quavering 
with  sorrow  and  awe.  She  found  her  clothes  and,  keeping 
in  line  with  the  door,  began  to  dress. 

"  Looks  pretty  bad,"  said  Dallas,  soberly.  The  silencing 
of  the  guns  augured  well,  however;  and  she  added  thank- 
fully, "  It  could  be  a  lot  worse,  though." 

"  I'll  put  on  my  shoes,  and  we  can  go  down  a  ways,  so's 
to  see  close.  Shall  I,  Dal " 

"  Sh !  "  Dallas  was  leaning  out  again,  her  head  lowered 
as  if  to  listen.  All  at  once  she  turned  and,  kneeling,  felt 
about  on  the  floor  for  her  cartridge-belt.  "  Yes,  yess"  she 
answered  ;  "  put  'em  on — quick !  " 

"  Are  we  going  down  to  watch  ?  " 

"  No." 

The  barracks  and  the  stables  were  high,  cherry-hued 
pyres,  terrible  enough  to  the  eye,  with  their  tops  crooking 
northward  in  the  wind.  To  Dallas'  ear,  they  were  far  more 
terrible,  telling  of  awful  suffering — hinting  of  direful 
intent.  For  the  nearer  pyre  sent  proof  of  a  sacrifice.  She 
could  hear  the  screams  of  a  horse. 

The  belt  found,  she  stepped  back  to  the  door.  "  Hurry, 
hurry,"  she  said.  The  old  iron  resolve  never  to  desert  the 
shack  was  fusing  in  the  heat  of  a  panic.  Her  unfailing 
instinct  was  hardening  a  new  one,  that  ruled  for  immediate 
flight. 

Marylyn  was  working  with  her  shoe-thongs,  not  stopping 


The  Last  Warning  327 

to  thread  them,  only  to  wind  and  tie  them  around  her 
ankles.  She  heard  her  sister  exclaim.  Then  she  was  seized 
and  brought  forward  by  a  trembling  hand.  "  Marylyn ! 
Marylyn  !  The  boat !  She's  going !  " 

They  looked,  and  saw  a  black-funnelled  bulk  floating 
across  the  watery  strip  mantled  by  the  blaze. 

"  Maybe  they  thought  it  'd  burn,"  suggested  Marylyn. 
"  See,  there's  sparks  flying  that  way." 

Dallas  leaned  back  against  the  door.  "  I  guess — that's 
it,"  she  said  slowly.  Then  after  a  moment,  "  But  why 
didn't  they  bring  her  straight  across?  There's  no  place 
to  tie  up  downstream." 

"  Why*  there's  fire  breaking  out  all  over  now,"  cried 
the  younger  girl,  forgetting  to  be  afraid  in  her  wonder  and 
excitement.  "  See !  One  of  the  little  houses  is  caught !  " 

It  was  the  first  cabin  of  Clothes-Pin  Row.  Two  or  three 
men  were  near  it.  At  that  distance  they  seemed  gaily 
posturing  to  each  other  in  a  dance. 

"  If  anything  is  wrong,"  Dallas  said,  "  Mr.  Lounsbury 
'11  come  back." 

"  Mr.  Lounsbury  1 "  repeated  Marylyn.  "  Was  he 
here?  " 

"  On  this  side,  by  the  grove.  I  saw  him  start  for  the 
Fort." 

And  so  their  going  was  delayed. 

Nevertheless,  Dallas'  sense  of  coming  danger  was  acute ; 
and  when,  before  long,  she  heard  the  trumpet  again,  and 
saw  the  troopers  fall  away  from  the  pyres,  leaving  the 
flames  to  their  work,  she  lit  the  lantern  and  held  it  to  where 
were  stored  her  treasures — a  lock  of  her  mother's  hair,  her 
father's  pipe,  the  letter  she  had  received  from  Lounsbury. 


328  The  Pldw-Woman 

"  You  take  the  cartridge-belt,"  she  called  to  Marylyn. 

The  other  obeyed. 

"  Ready?  "  said  Dallas,  and  lifted  the  lantern  to  shake  it. 

She  got  no  reply.  Instead,  gasping  in  alarm,  Marylyn 
came  headlong  to  her,  pinioning  her  arms  with  wildly 
clinging  ones.  "  Dallas !  oh,  help " 

Outside  there  was  a  sound  of  rapid  running.  Dallas 
flung  herself  against  the  door,  driving  it  shut.  A  second, 
and  a  weight  was  hurled  against  the  outer  battens.  Then 
came  four  raps. 

"  Don't  open  !  don't !  "  cried  Marylyn.  "  Maybe  it  ain't 
Charley!" 

But  Dallas,  undoubting,  swung  the  door  back,  and  into 
the  room  leaped  a  stooping  figure. 

It  was  The  Squaw. 

He  crouched,  and  moved  his  head  from  side  to  side,  as 
if  expecting  a  blow  or  a  bullet  from  behind.  His  right 
hand  held  a  bow ;  his  left,  a  bundle  of  arrows.  With  these 
he  beckoned  violently,  shaking  the  water  from  his  tattered 
clothes  and  pointing  over  his  shoulder  to  the  west. 

"  We're  coming,  Charley.  Dearie,  stand  up.  Now, 
now!  "  Marylyn  was  dragged  to  her  feet.  The  light  was 
quenched.  The  outcast  faced  about.  And  the  three  headed 
for  the  river,  with  The  Squaw  leading  at  a  trot. 

As  they  crossed  the  plowed  land  rimming  the  yard, 
sleepy  birds  fluttered  up  in  front  of  them  with  startled 
cheeps  and  a  whistle  of  wings.  They  swerved  to  find  the 
shack  road,  along  which  the  way  was  freer  and  more  quiet, 
and  the  pace  easy.  Charley  glanced  back  now  and  then  to 
see  if  they  were  close;  or,  halted  them,  when  they  listened, 
holding  their  breath. 


The  Last  Warning  329 

They  paused  for  the  last  time  near  the  river  end  of  the 
corn,  and  close  to  the  coulee  crossing.  From  there  Dallas 
saw  that  the  pyres  were  lower,  and  that  other  buildings  of 
the  Row  were  ablaze;  the  roof  of  a  scout  hut,  too;  and 
the  prairie,  over  which  travelled  widening  crescents  of  gold. 
But  the  fire  was  the  only  thing  that  was  moving.  For  not 
a  single  man  was  in  sight. 

Charley  was  not  watching  toward  Brannon,  only  along 
the  nearer  bank,  to  the  south. 

Of  a  sudden,  as  their  eyes  followed  his,  a  gun-shot  rang 
out  from  the  cottonwood  grove. 

"  Mr.  Lounsbury ! "  cried  Dallas,  starting  forward. 

«  No— he's  gone " 

That  moment  they  saw  between  them  and  the  landing  the 
silhouette  of  a  figure. 

It  was  not  Lounsbury's;  it  was  too  short  and  thick-set 
for  his.  Moreover,  it  seemed  to  be  casting  aside  clothes  as 
it  ran. 

Like  one,  The  Squaw  and  Marylyn  bolted  for  the  coulee. 
Dallas  hesitated — then  followed.  Near  the  brink,  they 
missed  the  steep  road,  and  went  slipping,  sliding,  and 
rolling  down  the  sumach-grown  side.  Then  they  struck  the 
bristling  bottom — righted — turned  their  feet  up  it — and 
fled. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI 
SOME    UNEXPECTED    DISCOVERIES 

HIS  face  as  blanched  as  a  dead  man's,  his  voice 
pealing  out  above  the  babel  like  a  bell,  Oliver 
stood  to  windward  of  the  double  furnace,  giving 
quick  orders  on  right  and  left. 

"  Two  men  there  on  the  Major's  quarters — Let  the 
guard-house  go — Use  your  blanket,  Flaherty,  use  your 
blanket — Sergeant,"  as  Kippis  passed  close  by,  "  clear 
the  Row  and  bring  'em  all  down  here.  Don't  let  'em  stop 
for  anything — Boys,  boys!  turn  out  those  horses !  " 

A  trooper  rushed  up  and  leaned,  yelling,  to  his  captain's 
ear.  "  They  won't  go,  sir ;  they're  hamstrung !  " 

With  a  command,  the  captain  fairly  threw  the  man 
toward  a  point  where  help  was  needed  and  seized  upon  his 
first  lieutenant.  "  Fraser,  there's  a  hell-hound  loose  in  this 
post  to-night !  " 

"I  know,  Captain.   The  fire  started  in  a  dozen  spots." 

"It's  that  damned  Indian  of  yours.  I'll  have  him  shot 
on  sight ! " 

Fraser  was  leaving.  He  looked  back,  his  face  all  horror 
and  smut.  "Charley?"  he  cried.  "Never!" 

Once  more  Oliver  gave  tongue,  and  directions  were  sent 
to  the  stockade  and  to  the  Line.  A  signal  light  communi- 
cated with  the  lookouts  on  the  bluffs. 

Kippis  was  already  fulfilling  his  charge.  Through  a 

330 


Some  Unexpected  Discoveries  331 

gap  in  the  northward-sweeping  prairie-fire — a  gap  fought 
out  and  kept  open  by  a  line  of  men — were  coming  the 
women  of  Clothes-Pin  Row,  each  carrying  a  child  and 
dragging  a  second  by  the  hand.  Behind  them  scuttled  the 
papoose-cumbered  squaws  from  the  scouts'  huts.  At  their 
rear  trudged  the  sergeant,  also  weighted,  and  jaunty  no 
longer,  but  leaving  red  stains  where  his  naked  feet  touched 
the  hot  and  smouldering  ground. 

"  To  headquarters !  "  shouted  the  captain,  at  the  fore- 
most laundress  in  the  rout.  Then  he  turned  to  his  trump- 
eter. A  moment  after,  the  fires  and  the  perishing  horses 
were  deserted,  and  the  troopers,  weapons  in  hand,  ran  out 
upon  the  parade-ground,  obeying  a  call  to  arms. 

Oliver  led  them.  As  he  approached  the  flag-staff,  the 
voice  of  a  woman  hailed  him  from  the  gallery  of  the  near- 
est house.  He  sprang  that  way,  and  was  up  the  steps  at  a 
bound. 

Mrs.  Cummings,  who  had  sought  refuge  in  her  own 
home,  met  him  at  the  top.  "  The  Colonel's  library  is 
stripped ! " 

So  it  was.  One  hurried  look  by  the  light  of  a  lamp 
showed  that  not  a  bow,  not  an  arrow  remained  on  the 
walls. 

But  there  was  no  time  for  exclaiming  or  conjecturing. 
Oliver  rushed  back  to  the  gallery  and  bade  all  the  women 
and  children  collect  and  keep  within  quarters.  Around 
it,  under  Sergeant  Kippis,  he  stationed  a  cordon.  Next, 
and  while  the  house  was  being  thoroughly  wet  down,  the 
ammunition  stores  were  drawn  upon,  and  extra  guns  and 
cartridges  were  carried  into  the  long  reception-room, 
where  the  women  could  assist  in  reloading.  Barely  three 


332  The  Plow-Woman 

minutes  had  passed  since  Oliver  sent  his  messengers.  But 
headquarters  was  fixed  to  withstand  an  assault  and  to  pro- 
tect its  inmates.  And  now,  still  ignorant  of  what  had  be- 
fallen, he  ordered  the  remainder  of  his  men  into  line. 

At  this  point,  with  the  detachment  about  to  move,  a 
volley  of  rifle  shots  sounded  from  the  stockade — another 
— and  another.  Then  up  went  a  great  hubbub :  "  The 
Indians !  The  Indians !  " 

Oliver  started  his  troopers  double-quick  across  the 
square.  At  the  hospital  one  of  the  stockade  guard  stopped 
them. 

"  The  Indians?  "  croaked  Oliver. 

"Gone!" 

The  troopers  took  up  the  cry :  "  Gone !  The  Indians  are 
gone!" 

Oliver  turned  them  back. 

They  met  a  second  man,  black-faced,  staggering,  fren- 
zied with  alarm.  It  was  Fraser.  He  caught  at  the  cap- 
tain's ragged  sleeve. 

"  Shot — other  side — they're  over  there — those  girls ! — 
those  girls "  His  breath  failed  him. 

Again  mingled  cries  went  up  from  the  troopers :  "  The 
shack,  boys!"  "They'll  kill  them  girls!"  "God!" 

Oliver  saw  the  need.  "  To  the  ferry,"  he  commanded. 

Like  one  man,  they  bounded  headlong  across  the  parade, 
through  the  red  smoke  pouring  from  barracks  and  stables, 
and  on — only  to  come  short  upon  a  boatless  landing,  where 
they  crowded  upon  each  other  and  cursed. 

Fraser  was  half-crazed.  Oliver  took  him  forcibly  in 
hand.  No  man  of  them  all,  even  if  not  burdened  with  a 
gun,  could  stem  the  river's  current. 


Some  Unexpected  Discoveries  333 

"  There's  one  chance  yet,"  he  said,  "  the  night-herd." 
He  turned  to  his  trumpeter.  "  Sound  the  recall,  and  keep 
a-sounding  it ! " 

Again  and  again,  the  familiar  strain  rang  out.  All 
looked  northward  to  where  they  knew  the  herd  had  been,  to 
where  the  long  curves  of  the  prairie-fire  were  still  moving. 

But  the  minutes  went,  and  there  was  no  answering  beat 
of  hoofs.  Where  were  the  herders?  Why  did  they  not 
obey  ? 

Again — again — and  again! 

Then,  to  the  south,  a  reply!  Above  the  spiteful  crack- 
ling of  the  tindery  buildings,  out  of  the  thinning  dark,  came 
a  clear,  eager  neigh ! 

That  way  the  troopers  rushed.  Gathering  at  the  flag- 
staff they  saw,  by  the  light  of  the  burning  piles,  a  single 
horse  come  galloping  toward  them  from  the  direction  of 
the  stockade.  Her  dun  neck  was  arched  like  a  charger's. 
As  she  swung  proudly  into  an  imaginary  line,  the  men 
greeted  her  with  a  cheer. 

That  greeting  was  echoed.  Until  now,  the  Indians  had 
been  quiet — as  quiet  as  a  flock  of  scurrying  grouse.  But 
the  river  was  between  them  and  their  enemy,  and  they  felt 
secure  from  pursuit.  Moreover,  whisky  was  working.  They 
were  boisterous  with  it.  Casting  caution  aside  when  they 
heard  that  cheer,  they  answered  with  defiant  whoops. 

The  cheers  of  the  troopers  changed  to  anguished  groans. 
One,  wildly  repeating  a  girl's  name,  sprang  toward  the 
waiting  "  Buckskin."  From  headquarters  came  the  sob- 
bing of  women,  the  whimpering  of  frightened  children. 
And  then,  nearer  and  nearer,  a  dull  pounding  that  swelled 
into  the  steady  plud,  plud  of  unshod  hoofs. 


334  The  Plow- Woman 

Once  more  a  cheer  went  up.  A  moment,  and  a  cavalcade 
swept  in — a  riderless  cavalcade,  with  ropes  dangling.  It 
was  the  night-herd,  the  discarded,  second-choice  mounts 
of  the  regiment's  officers,  a  motley  band  that  had  served 
their  country  through  more  than  one  enlistment,  and  that, 
hearing  the  familiar  summons — some  limping,  some  hob- 
bling— had  followed  the  dun  cayuse  to  answer  it. 

Now,  nooses  were  twisted  about  the  noses  of  the  horses. 
The  troopers  mounted.  The  trumpet  sounded  the  advance. 

Again  came  whoops  from  across  the  Missouri.  They 
were  farther  away  than  the  first. 

"  They're  travellin' ! "  shrilled  a  voice. 

"  Go  up — go  up  for  the  crossing,"  Oliver  ordered. 
"Fraser!  Fraser!" 

But  the  buckskin  mare,  with  her  master,  far  in  advance 
of  the  twenty  others,  was  already  plunging  down  the  bank 
and  into  a  black,  roily  whirl. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII 
THE    FLIGHT    TO    MURPHY'S    THROAT 

FOR  all  that  the  way  was  hard,  rough  with  stones 
and  choked  by  a  tangle  of  rank  growth,  the  three 
in  the  coulee  made  fast  progress  over  the  first 
two  miles.  Charley  led.  After  him  came  Marylyn, 
to  whom  the  loathed  split  in  the  plain  was  become  a  place 
of  refuge.  In  the  rear,  covering  her  sister  against  possi- 
ble attack,  followed  Dallas. 

As  they  went,  now  running,  now  falling  into  a  quick 
walk,  then  running  again,  nettles  stung  their  ankles; 
gooseberry  branches  tore  their  swinging  hands ;  willows 
lashed  their  faces.  But  terror  calloused,  and  they  knew  no 
hurts.  Marylyn  stepped  on  something  soft  and  moving — 
she  only  increased  her  pace.  On,  on,  they  sped,  stumbling 
blindly,  gasping  with  open  mouth — yet  persevering. 

The  strain  told  first  on  the  younger  girl.  So  far,  her 
strength  had  been  unnatural — born  of  the  terror  that 
made  her  unconscious  of  any  wound.  It  did  not  long  en- 
dure. Before  three  miles  had  been  travelled,  as  she  sank  in  a 
shallow  pool  to  wet  her  lips,  it  utterly  failed  her.  She 
could  not  rise,  and  pleaded  faintly  for  rest. 

"  Just  a  minute,  Dallas,  please — I  can't  go — my  side 
hurts." 

Dallas  helped  her  through  a  hindering  weave  of  pond- 
weeds  and  lilies,  and  laid  her  upon  some  marsh-grass 

33.5 


336  The  Plow-Woman 

beyond.  Meanwhile,  Charley  stole  back  a  short  distance. 
But  the  respite  was  brief,  for  he  returned  straightway  and 
twitched  at  their  dresses,  when  the  elder  girl  lifted  the 
younger  to  her  feet,  whispering  encouragement. 

"  Try  again,  honey.  You  got  your  breath.  Try 
again." 

Once  more  they  pressed  forward.  The  lightning  had 
ceased.  With  a  last  grumble,  and  a  scatter  of  drops,  the 
clouds  were  pulling  apart.  Here  and  there  a  few  stars 
shone.  These  thinned  the  darkness  considerably,  and,  at 
a  point  where  the  coulee  shallowed,  Dallas  was  able  dimly 
to  see  the  toiling  shapes  ahead.  Marylyn  was  wavering. 
"  Spunky  little  sister !  "  urged  the  elder  girl.  Lifting 
the  rifle  to  her  left  shoulder,  she  came  alongside  to  give 
the  support  of  an  arm. 

"  Where's  the  cartridge  belt  ?  "  she  whispered. 
"  Heavy," — panted  the  other — "  dropped  it." 
And  now  despite  Dallas'  aid,  Marylyn  straggled  weakly. 
Another  mile,  and  with  scarcely  a  sigh  of  warning,  she  sank 
again,  exhausted. 

"  Charley,"  called  Dallas.  The  Squaw  joined  them. 
"  You  take  one  arm — that's  it."  She  took  the  other.  Thus 
they  proceeded. 

Marylyn  was  almost  a  dead  weight.  When  the  channel 
was  clogged  with  rocks,  she  could  not  put  one  jaded  foot 
before  the  other,  and  was  fairly  dragged.  On  clear  sandy 
stretches  she  did  better.  Complete  collapse  was  near,  how- 
ever ;  her  head  was  swinging  upon  her  breast ;  she  prattled 
brokenly. 

Finally  Dallas  stopped.  "  Hide — hide,"  she  counselled 
between  breaths,  "  a  dark  place " 


The  Flight  to  Murphy's  Throat         337 

Ignoring  the  advice,  the  outcast  thrust  his  bow  and 
arrows  into  her  hands ;  then  squatting  before  Marylyn,  he 
seized  her  wrist,  drew  her,  limp  and  half-dead,  upon  his 
back,  and  staggered  on. 

"  Hold  to  Charley,  dear,"  begged  Dallas.  «  He's  carry- 
ing you  pick-a-back." 

The  younger  girl  murmured  gratefully,  and  locked  her 
hands  beneath  The  Squaw's  chin.  This  left  his  arms  free 
to  part  a  path  through  the  thickets  of  burweed  and  plan- 
tain that  choked  the  defile,  and,  for  fully  a  half-hour,  he 
kept  a  good  jog.  But,  well  worn  and  hampered  as  he  was, 
he  began  then  to  wobble. 

Dallas  gave  him  the  weapons  and  received  Marylyn  upon 
her  own  shoulders.  Notwithstanding  the  long  way,  her 
vigour  remained  splendid.  And  when  there  came  a  tendency 
to  lag,  she  fought  it  stoutly.  .Not  until  her  limbs  refused 
their  service,  did  she  drop  down. 

Under  her  wild  rye  made  a  cool,  stiff  couch.  She  reached 
through  it  and  dug  her  fingers  into  the  wet  earth.  Mary- 
lyn toppled  over  back  and  lay  beside  her,  prone.  Charley 
leaned  on  an  elbow,  breathing  hard,  watching — 

When,  far  behind,  down  the  shadowy  crack  through 
which  they  had  come,  sounded  wild  whoops. 

They  scrambled  up,  terror-stricken.  Like  hunted  deer, 
they  whipped  away  again,  knowing  that,  in  their  wake, 
instead  of  the  one  man  they  had  seen,  was  a  horde ! 

Once  more,  though  after  brave  effort,  it  was  Marylyn 
who  compelled  a  halt.  Dallas  strove  to  rouse  her.  "  Try 
a  little  longer,  honey.  Come  on,  come  on."  But  the  other 
only  sobbed  hysterically,  until  Charley  put  his  hand  upon 
her  mouth. 


338  The  Plow-Woman 

"  Can't  we  crawl  out? "  demanded  Dallas.  "  Quick, 
they'll  pass." 

The  Squaw  shook  his  head,  coming  close  that  she  might 
see  his  answer. 

"No  use?" 

He  shook  his  head  again  and  signed  that  their  pursuers 
had  horses. 

It  was  a  moment  of  supreme  despair.  She  laid  her  arms 
upon  her  knees,  her  face  upon  her  arms.  Their  puny 
human  power  had  failed.  Where  else  could  they  look  for 
succour?  Would  Lounsbury  or  the  troopers  come — in 
time? 

Then,  tearfully,  prayerfully,  in  this  utmost  need,  she 
raised  her  eyes  to  the  sky.  "  It's  not  for  me,"  she  faltered ; 
"  it's  for  Marylyn." 

That  upward  glance  was  not  in  vain.  In  front  of  her, 
lifting  their  plume-like  tops  against  the  heavens,  she  saw 
the  clump  of  burial  trees.  Instantly  she  took  heart,  for  her 
quick  brain  devised  a  plan — to  hide  in  the  cottonwoods ! 

But  all  three  might  not  stay,  for,  however  much  the 
Sioux  avoided  the  laden  boughs,  they  would  stop  to  search 
them  if  there  were  not  those  ahead  to  draw  them  past. 
And  one  of  those  ahead  must  be  a  woman. 

So  she  decided.  Bending  to  her  sister,  she  lifted  her  to 
a  sitting  position.  "  Honey,"  she  said  firmly,  "  you  see  the 
big  trees  there?  The  Indians  are  afraid  of  'em — remem- 
ber? They'll  go  by.  We'll  put  you  up  on  a  limb,  and  you 
keep  quiet.  You'll  be  safe.  We'll  go  on — for  help." 

"Yes — yes — Dallas,  only — I  can't  walk." 

*  Charley !  "  The  elder  girl  bade  him  assist.  Without 
understanding  fully,  he  obeyed.  Together  they  carried 


The  Flight  to  Murphy's  Throat         339 

Marylyn  toward  the  cottonwoods,  out  of  which  several  lank, 
grey  bodies  shifted  into  view  and  shot  away.  Dallas  chose 
a  tree  that  grew  close  to  the  steep  bank.  Here,  in  the  nar- 
row space  between  trunk  and  rooty  wall,  she  ordered 
Charley  to  get  down  on  all  fours.  Then,  taking  Marylyn 
upon  her  shoulders  as  before,  and  steadying  herself  with 
both  hands,  she  stood  on  The  Squaw's  back.  Little  by  little, 
bracing  with  legs  and  arms,  he  raised  his  load.  Marylyn 
was  now  below  a  thick  branch.  By  reaching  up,  and  sum- 
moning the  remnant  of  her  strength,  she  was  able  to  clasp 
it,  to  put  a  foot  over,  to  get  astride. 

"  Lie  down,"  continued  Dallas ;  "  they  won't  stop ;  don't 
speak." 

Hurriedly,  she  and  Charley  resumed  their  way  up  the 
wolf-haunted  bottom,  over  rocks,  through  puddles,  into 
pigmy  forests  of  cherry  and  plum.  But  now,  careless  of 
lost  time,  Dallas  ran  with  backward  looks  and  frequent 
haltings,  giving  strict  heed  to  the  whereabouts  of  those 
behind. 

They  had  travelled  a  good  distance  when  she  judged  that 
the  savages  were  nearing  the  burial-place,  that  the  time 
for  her  ruse  was  come.  Letting  the  outcast  go  on,  she 
paused  for  breath;  then  lifted  her  voice — and  sent  back 
through  the  night,  a  long,  inviting  call. 

Down  the  wind  came  instant  answer;  a  great  howl  of 
glee.  And  as  if  her  presence  ahead  was  unexpected,  as  if  it 
tempted  to  a  better  speed,  a  jargon  of  cries  swelled  hid- 
eously, and  drew  on. 

"She's  safe!"  shouted  Dallas,  exultantly;  "Charley, 
she's  safe!" 

Another  yowl  from  a  score  of  throats. 


340  The  Plow-Woman 

And  now  began  a  race. 

From  the  start  it  was  unequal,  and  the  gain  on  the  side 
of  the  pursuers.  For  the  biting  poison  that  had  made  the 
Indians  bold  to  the  point  of  open  defiance  was  now  stirring 
them  into  fleeter  going.  They  kept  up  a  constant  jabber- 
ing. They  broke  into  short,  puffy  whoops.  And  gradually, 
but  surely,  the  rods  decreased  between  quarry  and  pack. 

The  sweat  dreening  from  their  faces,  The  Squaw  and 
Dallas  strained  forward.  But  now  of  the  two,  one  could 
scarcely  keep  a  walk.  Her  strength  was  ebbing  to  the 
final  drop. 

"  Charley— Charley— I'm  tired!  " 

The  outcast  stumbled  back  to  help  her. 

A  little  while,  and  she  whispered  again.  "  Can't  go — 
stop — can't — 

Every  breath  was  sawing  at  her  sore  lungs.  She  tottered, 
pitched  forward,  and  went  down. 

It  was  then  that  Charley  pointed  to  the  front,  and  as  if 
to  a  vantage-place.  Dallas  looked,  and  saw,  at  the  end  of 
sheer  walls,  an  oblong  opening  of  greyish  light.  She  hailed 
it  dumbly.  There  was  where  the  coulee  narrowed  until  a 
man,  standing  in  its  bed  with  arms  outstretched,  could 
place  the  tips  of  his  fingers  against  either  rocky  wall. 
There  a  last  stand  might  be  made.  The  Throat ! 

One  helping  the  other,  they  dragged  themselves  on  and 
info  the  opening. 

The  time  had  narrowed.  Close  behind,  crashing  through 
a  thicket,  were  the  warriors,  announcing  themselves  with 
shrill  whoops. 

Dallas  waited,  propped  against  a  stone.  The  words  of 
the  old  Texas  song  began  to  run  in  her  mind: 


The  Flight  to  Murphy's  Throat         341 

"  We  saw  the  Indians  coming, 
We  heard  them  give  a  yell, 
My  feelings  at  that  moment 
No  mortal  tongue  could  tell." 

She  was  spent.  She  had  no  hope  of  being  spared  from 
death.  Yet  she  was  strangely  calm  and  unafraid. 

"  Marylyn  '11  be  happy,"  she  said.  "  I  know  John  Louns- 
bury  well  enough  for  that." 

She  became  conscious  of  thirst.  A  branch  of  wild  roses, 
shining  with  raindrops,  bobbed  above  her.  She  bent  the 
flowers  to  her  mouth,  one  by  one,  and  sucked  their  moisture. 

She  looked  to  the  front  again,  across  the  spreading 
meadow.  She  heard  the  cheeps  of  awakening  birds,  and 
small  movements  in  trees  and  grass.  The  grey  of  the  sky 
was  turning  to  pink.  There  was  a  lifting  fore-glow  in  the 
east. 

"  See,  Charley,"  she  said,  "  there'll  be  good  light  to  fight 
in.  But — but  there's  just  one  charge." 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII 
FRASER    HEARS    A    CALL 

A i  each  man   of  the  rescuing  party   splashed  out 
upon  the  sandy  beach  before  Shanty  Town,  he 
headed  for  the  open  level.  There  was  no  waiting 
for  commands,  no   attempt  at   order;   only   the 
sound  of  laboured  breathing,  of  frantic  urging,  of  the 
plying  of  heel  and  fist.   Butchery  threatened,  and  a  wasted 
moment  might  be  the  one  that  could  have  stayed  the  knife. 
Crossing  the  Bend,  the  company  was  strung  to  a  long, 
bedrabbled  line.  It  was   slow   going.  Already   the  horses 
had  stood  hard  usage — the  detour  with  Matthews,  the  re- 
turn, and  the  severely  trying  swim.  Fraser,  given  the  lead, 
still  kept  it,  dinging  hoarse  persuasion  into  "  Buckskin's  " 
flattened  ears. 

So  far,  the  troopers  had  kept  silent  through  fear  for 
the  girls'  safety — fear  that  the  hostages,  if  aware  of 
pursuit,  would  wreak  instant  death.  But  now,  as  their 
lieutenant  advanced  to  the  shack,  the  men  behind,  while 
trying  their  utmost  to  gain,  sent  forward  yell  upon  yell  to 
startle  the  Indians  into  dropping  their  captives  and  seek- 
ing cover. 

No  whoops  replied,  but  from  the  doorway,  unheard,  the 
voice  of  a  man,  "  Oliver — Oliver ! — here !  " 

As  the  line  swung  up,  and  by,  in  a  circle,  Fraser,  weapon 
in  hand,  was  down  and  pressing  forward. 

342 


Eraser  Hears  a  Call  343 

He  found  Lounsbury,  seated  on  the  sill,  from  which  he 
rose  unsteadily. 

"  Lounsbury !  Lounsbury !  " 

"  Quick — the  coulee !  They  went  that  way — Give  me  a 
lift!" 

His  hand  was  wet.  Fraser  caught  him  about  the  waist. 

"  Oh,  you're  wounded !  " 

"  Yes, — glancing  blow.  But  I  tied  it  up." 

"Lounsbury?  Wounded?"  It  was  Oliver. 

"  Up  the  coulee,  Captain !  Give  me  a  horse." 

The  captain  turned,  shouting  orders.  The  other  tried 
to  follow,  Fraser  supporting  him. 

"  Here,  somebody,  a  horse  for  Lounsbury." 

A  third  man  dismounted — Jamieson.  He  put  a  rope  in 
Fraser's  hand. 

"  Take  my  horse,*  he  said.  "  I'll  stay.  Ride  like  the 
devil,  Lounsbury,  and  soak  'em  one  for  me ! " 

They  helped  the  storekeeper  mount.  The  command  had 
gone.  He  and  Fraser  followed. 

Half  the  troopers  were  travelling  the  farther  brink, 
half  the  near.  The  two  caught  up  with  the  latter 
detachment. 

Progress  was  slow.  The  men  were  tired  from  the  fire- 
fighting.  The  horses  were  all  but  blown. 

Nevertheless,  not  a  moment's  halt  was  taken  until,  after 
six  wearisome  miles,  the  troopers  came  opposite  the  cotton- 
woods  where  the  Indian  dead  were  lashed. 

By  now  the  darkness  had  lifted  considerably,  and  a  scout, 
who  was   riding   the   southern    side,   advised   a   hunt   for 
tracks. 
,  No  tracks  were  found  on  the  near  brink.  The  horses 


344  The  flow-Woman 

moved  forward  again,  Oliver  and  Fraser  waiting  behind 
to  hear  from  the  opposite  side. 

"Anything  over  there?"  called  the  captain,  and  they 
fell  silent  for  the  reply. 

All  at  once,  as  they  waited,  Fraser  began  peering  down 
into  the  coulee.  "What's  that?"  he  whispered.  "What's 
that?  Hark!" 

"What?" 

Just  then  came  a  shout :  "  No  tracks,  Captain." 

Oliver  kicked  his  boots  into  his  horse's  side.  "  Come  on, 
come  on,"  he  said,  and  went  hurrying  after  his  men. 

"  But,  Captain "  Fraser  was  holding  back.  "  There 

was  a  cry.  I  heard " 

"  Come  on,  Fraser."  Oliver's  horse  broke  into  a  trot. 

"  Captain ! " 

A  third  time  Oliver  called  sharply.  Behind  he  heard  the 
cayuse  following. 

Farther  along,  however,  he  turned  to  address  his  lieu- 
tenant— and  saw  that  "  Buckskin  "  carried  no  rider. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX 
STANDING    AT    BAY 

AD  now  through  the  dusk  of  the  coulee  the  Indians 
advanced  toward  the  Throat.  Single  file,  they 
came,  their  leader  a  stalwart  brave  who  ran 
unsteadily. 

But,  of  a  sudden,  they  brought  up  and  retreated,  trip- 
ping back  upon  one  another  over  rubble  and  bowlder,  and 
giving  out  startled  oaths.  Then  they  halted,  a  score  of  dim, 
crowding  figures. 

Beyond  the  Throat  showed  a  patch  of  sky,  swiftly 
brightening  with  the  dawn.  'Against  that  patch,  thrust 
up  by  a  ragged  arm,  was  a  twirling  gun. 

There  was  a  parley,  while  the  oaths  became  a  jumble 
of  protests,  haranguing,  and  threats. 

Presently  Standing  Buffalo  could  be  heard  above  the 
rest.  "  They  are  only  women.  Let  us  take  them  and  be  on !  " 

At  this,  all  started  forward,  but  warily.  As  sudden  as 
before,  they  stopped. 

Against  the  light,  for  a  second  time,  a  ragged  arm  had 
shot  up.  Now  at  its  top  was  a  sinew-backed  bow. 

The  Indians  were  amazed.  One  of  their  kind  defending 
the  women?  They  snorted  in  rage. 

As  they  jostled,  stretching  this  way  and  that,  the  arm 
began  slowly  to  branish  the  bow,  and  in  a  manner  to  an- 
nounce that  the  holder  desired  single  combat. 

Standing  Buffalo  went  forward  in  a  bound.  "  I  clear 

345 


346  The  Plow-Woman 

the  way,"  he  cried  vauntingly  to  his  brothers ;  to  the  one 
before,  "Who  fears?  Come  out."  He  loosened  the  arrows 
in  his  quiver. 

The  challenger  came — a  stooping  figure  in  squaw's  dress. 

The  sight  of  him  fairly  rooted  the  young  chief.  "  The 
Squaw !  "  His  voice  was  furious. 

Behind,  a  great  laugh  went  up.  And,  as  though  there 
was  no  longer  a  need  either  to  respect  or  fear  the  signals 
of  the  one  who  barred  their  path,  the  whole  band  charged. 

A  little  to  one  side  of  The  Squaw,  a  gun  spoke — right 
into  their  midst.  A  brave  screamed,  catching  at  his  thigh. 
The  others  wavered  and  fell  back  beyond  rifle  reach,  taking 
him  with  them. 

The  stooping  figure  in  squaw's  dress  signed  once  more 
for  single  combat. 

Lame  Foot  addressed  his  brothers.  "  We  delay  too 
long,"  he  cautioned.  "  Standing  Buffalo,  go  forward  and 
slay  the  she-skunk,  and  let  us  hasten." 

Standing  Buffalo  waved  his  bow  aloft.  "  I  do  so,"  he 
promised.  "  But  you,  Medicine-Giver,  must  hold  me  clean 
of  shame  for  fighting  a  squaw ! "  Then,  to  the  outcast, 
"  Come  out,  coffee-cooler,  and  die."  He  halved  the  distance 
between  him  and  the  Throat. 

Squaw  Charley  approached  him  watchfully,  setting  a 
shaft  in  place.  His  face  seemed  all  eyes — eyes  burning  with 
a  fierce  joy.  Standing  Buffalo  fitted  an  arrow.  Both  raised 
their  bows. 

Behind  the  chief  came  calls  of  derision  and  execration. 
Behind  the  outcast  came  a  voice,  clear  and  steady :  "  Care- 
ful, Charley,  careful.'19 

To  and  fro,  the  contestants  were  stealing,  noiselessly, 


Standing  at  Bay  347 

on  the  alert,  each  striving  to  get  the  other  in  a  favourable 

light. 

A  minute,  another — then  Standing  Buffalo  bent  his 
knees,  drew  and  shot.  But  the  arrow  veered  a  trifle  from  its 
intended  course. 

The  Squaw  drew.  The  cord  sang.  The  shaft  whistled 
to  its  mark. 

It  drove  the  chief  backward  a  few  paces  like  a  wounded 
buck.  Then,  stopping  himself  with  effort,  he  lurched  for- 
ward again.  As  he  came,  he  raised  his  bow  and  sent  a 
second  arrow  that  cut  the  bushes  on  the  canyon  side. 

The  shaft  was  his  last.  His  face  went  suddenly  livid,  his 
eyeballs  started ;  drivelling,  he  clutched  at  the  air — tipped 
down  to  his  hands — touched — let  go  his  weapon — half- 
rose — pivoted  on  a  heel,  and  slipped  in  a  heap  to  the  stones. 

A  wordless  cry  broke  from  the  lips  of  The  Squaw.  He 
sped  across  the  coulee-bottom  to  the  side  of  the  dead  chief. 
There  he  struck  the  fallen  man  a  blow  upon  the  bare  knee, 
snatched  from  his  head  an  eagle  feather,  daubed  it  across 
the  flowing  wound,  and  thrust  it  dripping  red  into  his  own 
hair. 

Then,  as  he  had  not  done  in  years,  he  straightened. 
Then  he  cast  from  him  the  foul  rags  of  his  squaw's  dress. 
And  in  clout  and  the  colours  of  death,  he  stood  forth — a 
warrior ! 

"  I  count  a  coup — Red  Moon !  "  he  cried. 

Howls — from  a  watching  band  that  had  been  struck 
dumb. 

"  A  coup,  I — Red  Moon.  Come  on,  you  dogs — you  that 
called  me  dog.  Come  on,  you  squaws  that  called  me  squaw. 
Come  on,  and  a  warrior  will  fight  you,  one  by  one !  " 


348  The  Plow-Woman 

Before  him,  more  howls,  and  a  bluster  of  Uncapapa. 
Behind  the  voice  again :  "  Charley !  Charley !  " 

And  now  Red  Moon  leaped  back  to  resume  his  stand. 
With  his  turning,  the  band  drew  after,  sending  a  shower 
of  arrows. 

At  the  Throat  he  faced  them  again. 

"  Braves !  "  he  laughed  mockingly.  "  Dogs — that  fight 
like  dogs,  a  pack  against  one !  " 

Now  he  shot,  swift  and  unerringly.  Here  one  flattened; 
there,  another;  a  third  broke  his  jaw  upon  a  stone.  Till 
from  their  midst  flew  the  missile  of  Big  Ox,  hard-driven, 
straight.  Quivering,  it  buried  its  deadly  point  in  Red 
Moon's  breast. 

Deafening  whoops  echoed  in  the  narrow  canyon,  drown- 
ing the  hoof -beats  of  a  nearing  horse. 

Red  Moon  answered  them.  He  was  swaying  to  and  fro, 
like  a  cypress  limb  in  a  great  wind.  He  lifted  his  face  to 
the  sky  until  his  crimson  scalp-feather  drooped ;  flung  back 
his  hair,  and  clapped  palm  to  mouth  in  a  war-cry. 

Then  his  bow  flew  from  his  hand  as  his  arms  spread  out 
— spread  out  as  if  seeking  something  upon  which  to  lean. 
He  sank  to  his  knees,  chanting  the  death-song  of  the  Sioux. 

"  Charley !  Charley !  "  It  was  a  wail. 

Not  his  voice,  but  another's,  answered :  "  Dallas !  Where 
are  you  ?  " 

The  Indians  heard  the  call.  Catching  up  wounded  and 
dead,  they  fell  back. 

Dallas,  shielded  no  longer,  yet  forgetful  of  danger  and 
self,  ran  forward  to  where  Red  Moon  knelt.  Even  as  she 
reached  him,  he  could  kneel  no  longer.  He  toppled  side- 
ways, then  straightened  upon  his  back. 


Standing  at  Bay  349 

But  now  the  band  was  coming  back  toward  Dallas,  on 
their  way  to  the  Throat.  Their  purpose  was  thwarted. 
Before  Dallas  was  reached,  a  man  blocked  the  narrow  pas- 
sage, and  two  revolvers,  barking  a  staccato,  spread  panic 
among  them.  They  turned  to  the  walls,  looking  for  a  place 
to  scale.  From  there  came  tramping  and  shouts,  and  they 
saw,  over  them,  at  either  side,  a  line  of  downward-pointing 
guns! 

Huddling  together,  the  centre  of  a  complete  surround, 
wounded  and  unwounded  cast  aside  their  bows  and  flung  up 
their  hands  in  the  peace  sign. 

"  Give  'em  hell,  boys ! "  screamed  a  trooper. 

But  the  trumpet  interfered. 

Close  to  the  Throat  was  a  group  that  had  neither  eyes 
nor  ears  for  the  capture.  Here  was  the  warrior,  Red  Moon, 
calm-faced,  bearing  his  agony  bravely,  choking  back  even  a 
murmur  of  pain.  Over  him  were  Lounsbury  and  Dallas, 
bent  for  a  final  look  and  word. 

"  Dear  old  fellow,"  murmured  Lounsbury.  "  You  gave 
'em  a  good  fight  to-day.  You  saved  her." 

The  surgeon  was  beside  them  now,  hastily  examining. 
The  shaft  was  not  in  the  wound;  it  had  fallen.  But  the 
poisoned  barb  remained.  He  shook  his  head. 

"  No  use,  John,"  he  whispered,  and  tiptoed  away. 

Lounsbury  leaned  farther  down.  "  Charley,"  he  said, 
"  you're  going  now,  old  man.  Say  good-by  to  us." 

The  Indian  moved  one  hand  feebly. 

Lounsbury  understood.  He  lifted  and  shook  it  gently. 
"  Brave  Red  Moon,"  he  said. 

The  savagery  was  all  gone  from  the  Indian's  eyes ;  they 
were  wonderfully  soft  and  un-Indian  in  their  expression. 


350  The  Plow-Woman 

He  seemed,  all  at  once,  to  be  thinking  of  something  far  off. 
And  his  look  was  adoring. 

Dallas  could  not  speak  to  him,  but  she,  too,  shook  him 
gently  by  the  hand. 

He  settled  his  head  upon  Lounsbury's  arm,  as  a  child 
might  have  done.  Then  he  looked  up  at  Dallas.  "  Friend 
— friend,"  he  whispered  softly,  smiled,  and  with  the  touch 
of  the  sun  on  his  upturned  face,  he  slept. 


CHAPTER    XL 
SOME    ENDINGS    AND    BEGINNINGS 

EJNSBURY  was  stretched  in  the  hammock  on  Cap- 
tain Oliver's  gallery,  his  bandaged  head  on  a  pil- 
low, his  left  arm  resting  in  a  sling.  Leaping  about, 
almost  upon  him,  and  imperilling  the  stout  ropes 
that  swung  the  hammock,  were  five  of  the  captain's  seven. 
Twenty-four  hours  were  gone  since,  having  lashed  four 
Indian  dead  among  the  branches  of  the  burial  trees,  troop- 
ers, Sioux,  and  rescued  had  returned  to  a  post  that  was 
half  in  ashes.  Now,  guards  tramped  the  high  board  walk  as 
before,  keeping  strict  watch  of  their  sulky  prisoners;  the 
ramshackle  ferryboat,  dragged  away  from  the  bar  that 
had  halted  her,  was  tied  up  at  her  landing  again;  across 
the  upper  end  of  the  parade,  grey  tents  had  replaced  the 
barracks ;  while,  farther  on,  teams  and  scrapers  were  clear- 
ing away  smoking  ruins  and  dumping  them  into  the  river ; 
squaws  were  thatching  the  roofs  of  the  scouts'  shanties; 
and  hammers  were  ringing  on  new  structures  for  Clothes- 
Pin  Row.  With  cool  enterprise,  Brannon  was  hastening 
toward  recovery. 

There  was  other  mending  that  was  less  rapid:  In  the 
stockade,  where  one  nursed  an  arrow,  another  a  bullet, 
wound;  in  the  garrison  hospital,  where  Kippis  and  a  com- 
rade stumped  about  on  swathed  feet;  and  on  the  Oliver 
gallery,  where  Lounsbury  lay,  his  face  not  the  usual  ful- 
ness, and  a  trifle  white. 

351 


352  The  Plow-Woman 

The  storekeeper,  however,  was  lending  entertainment,  as 
hospitality  and  his  popularity  demanded. 

"  The  idea  of  you  little  apes  asking  for  stories,"  he  was 
saying  to  his  audience,  "  when  such  popping  good  ones 
are  happening  right  under  your  nose ! " 

Felicia  was  the  youngest  of  the  seven.  She  gave  back 
at  him,  prancing  up  and  down  insistently.  "  But  we  don't 
want  stories  of  things  around  here,"  she  cried  wilfully. 
"  We  want  lords  and  ladies,  and  you  glm  'em  to  us." 

"Lords  and  ladies,"  sniffed  Lounsbury.  "Well,  Fe- 
licia, stop  that  jumping-jack  business  and  I'll  begin." 

A  chorus  of  delight — then,  the  five  disposed  themselves, 
the  boys  (there  were  two)  astride  the  storekeeper;  the 
girls  draping  the  swinging  net  at  either  side. 

"  Once  upon  a  time,"  commenced  Lounsbury,  "  in  the 
middle  of  a  gre-a-a-t,  wi-i-i-de,  fla-a-a-t  country " 

"  Now,"  interrupted  James,  who  came  next  to  Felicia. 
His  inflection  was  rising  and  suspicious. 

"  Now,"  chimed  in  the  others.  They,  too,  did  not  fancy 
such  familiar  topography. 

"  Look  here,"  said  the  narrator,  "  don't  get  it  into  your 
precious  noddles  that  this  Territory's  the  only  flat  country 
under  the  sun.  There  are  other  spots  upon  this  green  earth 
where  you  can  see  hundreds  of  miles  in  any  direction." 

"  Go  on,  then,  go  on !  " 

"  Well,  this  was  such  a  place — great,  wide,  flat  place. 
The  lord  lived  there.  He  was  called  the  Lord  Harry — got 
his  name  from  the  way  he  acted;  he  was  always  making 
forced  marches " 

Again  suspicion,  which  Lounsbury  ignored. 

"  And  violent  demands.  Oo !  my  shin !  "    (This  to  James, 


Some  Endings  and  Beginnings          353 

whose  heels  were  curled  up  under  him.)  "  Violent  demands, 
I  said.  And  so  he  had  the  cheek — urn — the  impudence  to 
love,  to  love "  He  shut  his  eyes  in  silent  rhapsody. 

"  What  uz  her  name?  " 

"  Ah ! "  Lounsbury  threw  up  his  well  hand  helplessly. 
"  No  name  was  splendid  enough  for  her — not  one.  But  he 
called  her — for  want  of  a  better,  mind  you — he  called  her 
the  Rose  of  the  South." 

"  Bully !  bully !  "  accompanied  by  the  clapping  of  hands. 

The  door  from  the  entry  opened.  Dallas  came  slowly 
out. 

"  Go  on,"  urged  Felicia,  "  « Rose  of  the  South?  '  » 

But  Lounsbury  was  looking  at  Dallas.  "  Rose  of  the 
South,"  he  repeated,  a  queer  tremor  running  around  his 
mouth ;  "  as  far  south  as — as  Texas." 

Dallas  seemed  about  to  turn. 

Lounsbury  hurried  to  put  the  well  hand  behind  his  ear. 
"  Felicia,"  he  said,  "  didn't  I  hear  your  mother  call?  " 

Felicia  rocked  herself  from  foot  to  foot.  "  Oh,  you  go 
on"  she  said  overbearingly,  "  or  you  might  fall  out  of  the 
hammock." 

But  the  spell  was  broken.  Her  sisters  had  pounced  upon 
Dallas.  The  boys,  getting  a  whiff  from  regions  down  the 
hall,  had  made  off.  She  followed,  with  backward  demands 
for  "  the  rest  of  it "  later  on,  and  carried  the  last  of  the 
five  with  her. 

Lounsbury  sat  up  and  put  out  his  hand.  The  fun  was 
gone  from  his  eyes. 

"  Dallas,  you've  had  your  talk,"  he  said  quietly,  but  with 
a  hint  of  anxiety.  "  I  know  it's  all  right ;  it's  got  to  be." 

She  came  part  way  to  him,  and  stood  where  morning- 


354  The  Plow-Woman 

glory  vines  climbed  a  lattice.  "  Marylyn's  just  been  telling 
me,"  she  answered.  She  raised  her  head,  very  intent  upon 
the  flagstaff.  The  light  through  the  vines  touched  the  out- 
line of  her  face — a  firm  outline,  cut  by  a  flying  wisp  of 
hair. 

"  Dear  ?  "  he  questioned. 

She  glanced  down  at  him,  smiling  through  tears.  "  All 
the  time,  they  liked  each  other,"  she  said  happily.  "  He 
calls  her  Marylyn,  and  she  calls  him  Robert." 

He  got  up  and  went  to  her.  "  When  I  saw  him  there 
in  the  road  by  that  cottonwood  bunch,  lugging  her  along 
so  careful,  looking  so  scared — and  the  way  he  held  her  on 
Buckskin ! "  He  caught  her  hand. 

"  There's  one  thing  that  hurts,"  she  answered.  "  That 
it  kept  you  out  there  watching,  and  I  didn't  even  go  to 
you — but  I — I " 

"  You  were  doing  the  white  thing  by  that  little  sister. 
That  makes  it  all  the  sweeter." 

"  She  was  afraid  I'd  scold,"  still  through  tears. 

"You  scold!" 

"  I  would.  I  felt  different  about  soldiers — then." 

He  took  a  deep  breath.  "  They're  handy  to  have 
around,"  he  said. 

"  She's  afraid  Mr.  Fraser  '11  find  out  what  she  said  about 
you." 

"  He  won't.  He  might  get  a  notion  she  didn't  know  her 
own  mind  yet !  He  might — well,  as  Kippis  says,  *  'E's 
bloomin'  'ot-'eaded,'  the  little  beggar!" 

"  She  don't  know  I  told  you.  It  'd  bother  her  if " 

"  That's  between  you  and  me,  Dallas."  He  drew  her 
near. 


Some  Endings  and  Beginnings          355 

"  Yes." 

"  Yes,  John"  promptingly. 

"  Yes,  John." 

The  morning-glory  vines  on  the  lattice  reached  up  and 
out ;  brushed  by  the  wind,  they  made  a  sheltering  veil.  He 
drew  her  closer.  He  lifted  her  face  to  his  by  a  smoothing 
caress  of  her  hair.  He  kissed  her. 

"My  dearest!  My  splendid  girl!" 

He  shook  his  head  roguishly  at  her.  "  So  wild,  she  was, 
with  the  bit  in  her  teeth.  And  now — she  eats  right  out  of 
my  hand." 

Then,  roguish  no  longer,  he  lifted  her  two  hands,  turned 
them — palms  up — and  touched  them  with  his  lips. 

"  Ah,  dear,  there  must  be  no  more  going-it-alone.  I 
want  to  take  care  of  you  after  this.  We  won't  wait,  will 
we?" 

"  No." 

"  Just  the  minute  a  minister  can  be  reached?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I've  a  mind  to  bribe  Mike  into  taking  us  up  to  Bis- 
marck after  breakfast ! " 

"  You're  too  sick."  Her  face  was  grave,  her  eyes 
watched  him  anxiously.  "  All  night  I  thought  about  you : 
How  I  went  running  off  when  I  heard  that  shot.  Oh,  sup- 
pose, suppose " 

"  I'll  be  over  this  in  a  day.  And  I  know  you  went  be- 
cause you  had  to.  Don't  I  know  you  weren't  afraid  ?  Don't 
I  know  why  you  left  Marylyn  behind  at  the  trees  ?  Dallas 
— you're  a  wife  for  a  man  out  here !  " 

She  coloured  under  his  praise. 

"  There'll  be  other  things  coming  up  to  fight,"  he  went 


356  The  Plow-Woman 

on.  "  That's  the  beauty  of  this  West — it  keeps  you  busy. 
But  we'll  be  together  to  make  the  fight.  I  don't  ask  any- 
thing more." 

After  a  time,  they  walked  to  the  top  of  the  steps. 

Across  the  river,  at  the  centre  of  the  yellow  bend,  it 
stood — the  squat  shack. 

"  Dear  little  home !  "  she  said. 

"  You  wouldn't  like  to  leave  it.  You  can  go  to  Bismarck, 
you  know,  or  East,  or  anywhere." 

"  I'd  rather  stay." 

"  We'll  stay — right  over  there.  Then,  when  the  town 
comes,  and  it  gets  too  populous — if  you  like,  and  if  Mary- 
lyn  's  not  at  this  post — we'll  go  farther  up,  to  open 
country  again." 

"  We'll  take  your  share  of  the  Clark  herd,"  she  said. 

"  I've  got  a  -fine  little  saddle-mare  for  you,"  he  said. 

Somebody  entered  the  parlour  behind  them — two  some- 
bodies, hand  in  hand. 

"  Dallas,"  called  one,  meekly. 

"  Lounsbury,"  hailed  the  other. 

The  storekeeper  went  in,  Dallas  with  him.  u  Bless  your 
sweet  hearts,"  he  said  when  he  faced  the  couple.  "  Mary- 
lyn,  you  rested?  Fraser,  you  look  idiotically  happy." 

"  I'm  not  alone,"  retorted  the  lieutenant.  "  I'd  hate  to 
describe  you  this  minute,  your  face  beaming  through  all 
that  lint." 

"  Save  yourself  the  trouble,  here,  before  my  future 
wife." 

Fraser  turned  to  Marylyn.  "  Phew !  But  we're  im- 
portant !  Listen  to  him !  " 

"  Dallas  wants  to  get  back  to  the  shack.  Can  a'  ordi- 


Some  Endings  and  Beginnings          357 

nary,  everyday  trooper  look  after  the  finest  two-year-old 
and  the  finest  team  in  Dakota?  Not  by  a  long  shot!  And 
I'm  not  going  to  let  her  go  alone,"  soberly,  "  after  what's 
happened.  Can't  take  any  more  chances." 

Eraser  sobered  too.  "  Nothing  to  fear  any  more,"  he 
said.  "  When  Mike's  men  were  getting  the  boat  off,  down 
below,  they  found — him." 

A  moment's  silenced 

"  They  think  he  tried  to  cross  and  couldn't.  There  he 
was,  tangled  up  in  some  willows,  poor  devil." 

"  That  ought  to  explain  some  things  to  the  Captain," 
said  Lounsbury,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Yes.  And  it  will  satisfy  the  K.  O.,  I'm  pretty  sure. 
An  officer's  not  to  be  blamed  so  much  for  things  going 
wrong  when  the  traitor's  practically  within  the  lines.  The 
K.  O.  himself  could  have  had  that  fire." 

"  Well,  Dallas."  Lounsbury  was  cheery  again.  "  You 
and  Marylyn  own  the  Bend,  sure  enough." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Then,  with  a  great 
show  of  backing  and  coughing,  young  Jamieson  appeared. 

"  Frank,"  said  Lounsbury,  "  quit  your  nonsense  and 
tell  us  about  the  other  side.  Did  the  scout  find  any- 
thing? " 

"  Yes,  he  did,"  answered  Jamieson ;  "  and  what  proves 
how  smart  the  whole  plot  was.  What  do  you  think?  Well, 
just  above  where  you  met  that  Indian,  they  found  an  out- 
fit— black  blanket  and  a  ragged  skirt 

A  quiet  fell.  Dallas  turned  away  to  the  windows.  Louns- 
bury followed  her,  comforting. 

Presently,  he  returned,  clearing  his  voice.  "  They 
copied  Charley's  clothes,"  he  said.  "  I  guessed  that.  As 


358  The  Plow-Woman 

the  Indian  came  up  to  me,  I  spoke.  But  when  he  answered, 
I  knew — just  a  second  too  late.  He  gave  me  a  terrible  lick, 
but  I  caught  it  on  my  arm  and  came  back  with  the  gun. 
Don't  know  how  I  ever  reached  the  shack." 

"  Mr.  Lo  peeled  in  the  grove  and  scampered,"  said 
Fraser. 

"  We  saw  him,"  said  Marylyn,  "  and  I  ran." 

"  He's  the  only  red  that  got  free." 

"  But,  all  the  same,  I  plugged  him,"  declared  Lounsbury. 
"  And  I'll  bet  he's  packing  a  pound  of  buckshot.  Who 
was  it,  do  you  know?  " 

"  Canada  John." 

Again  the  door  opened,  and  Oliver  appeared.  His  long 
face  was  distressfully  haggard;  about  his  temples  and 
across  his  forehead,  what  had  been  merely  lines  before  were 
now  deep  grooves.  Yet  the  fierce,  baffled  look  that  had  been 
in  his  eyes  since  the  escape  was  entirely  gone.  He  smiled 
at  the  group  most  tenderly,  and  his  moustache  wiggled 
in  a  most  incomprehensible  fashion. 

He  closed  the  door  and  waited,  his  hand  on  the  knob. 
Jamieson  stepped  forward.  "  Captain,"  he  said  with 
mock  injury,  "  these  people  " — he  indicated  the  others — 
"  do  not  mark  the  flight  of  the  minutes.  I  don't  wonder 
— it's  natural.  But  I,  sir,  I — having  been  asked  to  break- 
fast by  Mrs.  Oliver — do.  Is — is  breakfast  ready?  " 

"  Breakfast  is  ready,"  Oliver  answered.  His  voice  was 
unsteady. 

"  Thank  goodness  for  that!  " 

There  was  the  sound  of  a  faint  cheer  outside;  then 
someone  went  rushing  up  the  plank  walk  before  the  house. 
The  captain  closed  the  windows. 


Some  Endings  and  Beginnings          359 

66  We  shall  give  thanks  for  many  things  to-day,"  he 
said  significantly. 

Fraser  started,  and  his  eyelids  fluttered  what  his  face 
strove  to  control. 

"What's  all  that  outside?"  It  was  Marylyn,  in- 
nocently. 

But  Oliver  gave  a  quick  sign,  pulling  nervously  at  his 
moustache. 

"  Frank,"  he  began,  "  a — a  friend  is  coming  home  to  us 
this  morning." 

"  A-a-ah !  "  It  was  near  a  groan. 

"  Wait — wait,"  firmly.  "  Give  yourself  a  moment  to 
guess.  But — guess  something  good." 

Jamieson  .moved  like  a  man  in  pain.  "  You  mean,  you 

mean "  he  whispered.  "  Oh,  Captain,  I've  waited  and 

waited." 

"  Bravely — we  all  know  that.  And  there's  reward  for 
you." 

Behind  Jamieson,  the  others  were  leaning  forward,  hope- 
ful, fearful — in  a  fever  of  emotions. 

The  cheering  outside  had  grown.  More  people  were 
running  up  the  walk — children,  men,  bareheaded  women. 

"Jamieson,"  said  the  captain,  "you'll  be  very  calm?" 

Jamieson  relaxed,  faltering  forward.  "  I'll  try !  I'll 
try !  "  he  promised. 

Lounsbury  caught  him.  "  Tell  him,  Oliver,"  he  begged. 

The  captain  turned  the  knob,  took  Jamieson  by  a  wrist 
and  led  him  out  through  the  entry. 

On  the  gallery  was  a  second  group.  It  whispered.  It 
laughed.  It  cried.  It  looked  north  to  where  the  road  came 
down  from  the  landing. 


360  The  Plow-Woman 

"  Easy  now,  easy,"  cautioned  Oliver.  He  patted  Jamie- 
son,  led  him  down  the  steps,  and  faced  him  up  the  Line. 

"  There,  my  dear  boy,"  he  said. 

On  the  upper  edge  of  the  parade-ground,  the  men  of  B 
Troop  were  surrounding  some  travellers,  caps  in  air. 
With  their  cheers  mingled  wild  shouts.  And  one  of  them 
was  singing  the  lines  of  a  song,  fervent,  loud  and  martial : 

"  Glory,  glory,  Hallelujah!  " 
Glory,  glory,  Hallelujah!  " 

For  a  moment,  as  one  who  questions  his  own  sight  and 
hearing,  Jamieson  gazed  before  him.  Then,  he  flung  up 
his  arms  and  sprang  forward  with  a  great  cry : 

"Mother!  mother!  Alice!" 

Down  the  Line  they  had  taken  up  the  singing.  And  to 
it,  the  troopers  dividing,  the  travellers  came  into  full  view. 

There  was  a  wagon,  with  red  wheels,  a  green  box,  and 
drawn  by  a  milk-white  horse.  On  its  seat  were  two  women, 
who  clung  to  each  other  as  they  looked  about.  Above  them 
a  cross  of  rude  boards  stood  straight  up  into  the  sunlight 
of  the  morning.  And  beside  the  cross,  driving,  sat  a  man 
— an  aged  man — white-haired,  priestly,  patriarchal. 


CHAPTER    XLI 
TAPS 

THE  parlour  at  Captain  Oliver's  was  a  homelike 
place:  The  black  tarred  paper  that  covered  its 
walls  was  fairly  hidden  from  sight  by  selected  illus- 
trations cut  out  of  leading  weeklies — these  illus- 
trations being  arranged  with  a  nice  eye  to  convenience, 
right  side  up,  the  small-sized  pictures  low  down,  the  larger 
ones  higher.  There  was  a  fireplace  which,  it  being  summer- 
time, had  a  screening  brown-paper  skirt  that  fell  to  the 
hearth.  Above  this,  along  the  mantel,  was  another  skirt, 
made  of  a  newspaper,  short  and  pouty,  and  scissored  at 
the  lower  edge  into  an  elaborate  saw-tooth  design.  The 
mantel  was  further  adorned  by  certain  assorted  belong- 
ings in  the  way  of  a  doll,  a  kite,  an  empty  bank,  a  racquet, 
books,  and  the  like,  all  cast  into  their  various  positions  by 
the  seven  small  Olivers.  On  either  side  of  the  fireplace 
were  bracket-lamps.  Across  the  room  was  the  inevitable 
army  cot,  spread  with  wolf  skins.  There  were  chairs — 
two  of  them — wrought  from  sugar  barrels.  There  was  a 
table,  quite  as  ingeniously  formed.  And,  completing  the 
whole,  the  long  curtains  over  the  windows — curtains 
magnificently  flowered,  and  made  from  a  dress-pattern 
gift  (the  captain's)  that  Mrs.  Oliver,  ever  a  woman  of 
resource,  had  artfully  diverted  to  another  purpose. 

To-night,  the  parlour  was  more  homelike  than  usual — 
and  festive.  For  a  family  party  filled  it.  Here  was  the 

361 


362  The  Plow-Woman 

hostess,  carrying  a  huge  iced  cake,  and  taking  account  of 
the  seven's  behaviour;  the  seven  themselves,  eager,  though 
somewhat  repressed,  and  doing  full  justice  to  their  por- 
tions ;  their  father,  thankful,  as  he  passed  the  coffee,  that 
BO  much  good  had  come  out  of  some  misfortune;  Frank 
Jamieson,  mother  and  sister  on  either  arm ;  Marylyn  Lan- 
caster, looking  dimpled  consciousness ;  close  upon  her  every 
move,  a  certain  young  lieutenant,  who  cast  longing  glances 
toward  the  half -lighted  gallery;  the  surgeon,  ungrate- 
fully relegated  to  a  corner,  but  solacing  himself  in  his 
cup;  David  Bond,  his  wrinkled  old  face  a  benediction; 
and,  lastly,  Dallas  and  John. 

Lounsbury  was  his  former  self,  save  for  the  plaster- 
strips  that  had  supplanted  the  bandages.  Everywhere  at 
once,  he  put  the  grip  of  two  men  into  his  well  arm,  smil- 
ing upon  all  like  the  very  genius  of  happiness. 

And  Dallas — Mrs.  Oliver  had  offered  to  sew  her  a  plain 
white  dress  for  the  occasion.  But  she  had  chosen — since 
her  John  must  of  necessity  come  in  his  wonted  attire — to 
appear  in  the  simple  frock  she  had  worn  the  night  they 
met  in  the  swale.  Above  it,  her  hair  was  braided  and  coiled 
upon  her  head  like  a  crown.  Her  cheeks  were  a  glowing 
red.  Her  eyes  shone. 

All  was  bedlam:  Tongues  clattered;  cups  rattled; 
laughter  rose  and  fell ;  the  seven,  having  no  chairs,  sat  in 
a  line  under  the  leadership  of  Felicia  and  kicked  their  heels 
on  the  floor. 

Then — interrupting — a  knock,  loud,  peremptory. 

The  company  stilled.  Jamieson  opened. 

There  stood  a  jolly  figure — the  sutler's — apple-round 
head  and  all. 


Taps  363 

"Well,  Blakely?  "  asked  the  captain. 

Blakely  hung  his  weight  on  a  foot  and,  coughing  be- 
hind his  plump  hand,  bobbed  his  answer :  "  Steam's  up, 
sir." 

Lounsbury  had  the  centre  of  the  floor.  He  kept  it, 
reaching  out  to  bring  Dallas  beside  him.  They  stood  while 
the  others  crowded  up  to  give  them  well  wishes  and  to  tell 
them  good-night. 

Last  of  all  came  David  Bond.  "  My  daughter,  my  son," 
he  said,  "  God  bless  you !" 

Lounsbury  slipped  Dallas'  hand  into  his  arm.  Then  the 
door  opened  for  them,  and  they  went  out — together. 

"  John  is  a  good  man,"  said  the  evangelist,  "  and  will 
make  a  good  husband."  He  was  seated  with  Fraser  on  the 
gallery,  watching  a  light  in  midstream  dance  its  way 
through  the  dark. 

Fraser  sighed  happily.  "  She's  a  dear  girl,"  he  mur- 
mured, looking  back  to  where  the  lamp  was  moving  about 
in  Oliver's  spare  room.  "  She'd  make  a  wife  for  a  prince." 

Presently  he  roused  himself  with  another  sigh.  "  You 
ought  to  see  the  way  we  fixed  up  the  shack,"  he  said. 
"  White  kick-up  curtains  on  the  windows — that  was  Mrs. 
Oliver's  idea;  rose-berries  all  over  the  mantel — Marylyn 
did  that;  I  stuffed  the  fireplace  full  of  sumach;  then, 
Michael  sprinkled  and  swept  out,  and  we  covered  the  floor 
with  Navajo  blankets." 

"Little  place  looked  cosey." 

"  Cosey  as  could  be." 

A  little  while,  and  Fraser  sprang  up.  "  They're  there !  " 
he  cried.  "See?  see?  They're  home!" 


364  The  Plow-Woman 

Far  away  on  the  bend,  the  eyes  of  the  shack  were  bright. 

"  And  you,  Mr.  Fraser?  "  asked  the  evangelist. 

"  Marylyn  and  I  will  wait  for  the  Colonel.  Won't  be 
long,  now.  Shall  you  be  here  ?  " 

"  I  think  not.  The  Indians  go  to  Standing  Rock  next 
week.  I  go  with  them." 

"  Poor  Charley !  "  said  Fraser,  huskily.  "  He  won't  go, 
poor  old  chap !  " 

"  Hardly  poor,  Mr.  Fraser."  There  was  a  triumphant 
ring  in  David  Bond's  voice.  "  Few  men  gain  as  much  as  he 
by  death." 

"  I  know.  Even  the  Captain's  proud  of  him  now." 

They  fell  silent. 

Now  from  the  tent  rows  that  replaced  the  barracks, 
rang  out  the  trumpet,  sounding  the  day's  last  call.  The 
two  turned  their  heads  to  listen. 

The  call  ended.  The  faint,  wavering  notes  of  the  echo 
died  away  upon  river  and  bluff. 

They  turned  back  to  the  shack  again — and  saw  its  light 
go  flickering  out. 


THE    END 


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